Getting used to it
by Noma
Summary: What happens when Charlie gets abducted? How do the Eppes men deal with the psychological and physical ramifications? Characters study.
1. Chapter 1

**Getting used to it**

**Summery: What happens when Charlie gets abducted? How do the Eppes men deal with the psychological and physical ramifications?**

**AN: I've read a lot of fics where Charlie gets abducted. I wanted to explore how each character handles the situation in the long run. I would love to hear what you think - so feedback is very very welcomed. **

**For those of you who are waiting for me to finish "Discoveries" – I'm still working on it, but this fic has taken more of my time lately.**

_** In the development of the human brain, evolution has really overshot the mark **_

0

October 27th

Charlie rarely felt lonely. He had an amazing ability to work on matters in his own mind and, because of that, he rarely noticed things around him. Today was no exception. It was past seven and the house was empty. Alan was out with Art, and Don was working on a big case and so hadn't had time to stop by for a while. Charlie's only acknowledgement of the world around him ocurred a few hours ago when it had started to get dark outside and he'd had to turn on the living room light. Hunger was starting to wear at his insides and Charlie knew he would soon have to get up to fix himself a meal. But, for now, he was deep in his work.

Charlie was shaken from his concentrated state when he heard something break. Unable to tell where the noise came from he paused, lifting his eyes from the paper in front of him and listening carefully.

When Charlie didn't hear anything more he rose quietly, setting the pages aside, and walked though the house. As he entered the kitchen he stopped abruptly. The first thing he noticed was that something wasn't right with the back door. The second thing was the gun pointed at him.

"Don't say a word." The man holding the weapon spoke harshly. He was a little taller than Charlie. Charlie couldn't judge his expression because of the ski mask he was wearing, but it sounded like he was smiling.

He stared at the gun, too stunned to respond.

"Good. Now turn around Charlie."

Charlie did as he was told and turned his back on the threatening visitor.

"You have the right to remain silent," the man whispered into Charlie's ear as he roughly pulled Charlie's hands behind his back.

"Anything you say can and will be used against you." Charlie felt some kind of thin, strong wire digging into his wrists as they were tied together.

"Unfortunately, you don't have the right to a lawyer." The man sneered.

The stranger's warm breath against the back of his neck made Charlie's skin crawl. He could almost feel his brain kick-starting itself out of a state of shock and into one of fear.

The wire was now digging deep into Charlie's tightly bound wrists.

"What do you want?" Absently, Charlie noticed that his voice sounded a lot more confident than he felt.

"I said don't speak." The man didn't sound too angry. It was as if he had been waiting for the question.

Charlie was suddenly being spun around to face his masked assailant. Before he could find his balance the gun was smashed into his face, hitting him over his left eye. Charlie saw the floor coming his way as he lost his footing and fell. He instinctively tried to use his hands to break the fall but was, of course, unable to. His right shoulder struck the floor first, followed by his face, which hit the tile with a load thud.

His head was spinning. During his landing, he'd bitten down on his tongue rather forcibly and was assaulted with the strong taste of blood. Charlie tried to spit it out before choking on it. Every inch of his face, as well as his shoulder, began to throb.

He felt himself being turned and a bright flash of light sent another wave of pain through his head.

He was soon pulled to his feet and shoved out of the house. Charlie knew he was too dazed to put up a fight, and once he saw the empty street he realized there was no chance of getting away at the moment. Charlie was taken to the back of a black car; a car he hadn't even noticed was there. When he saw the man open the trunk, he flinched, knowing what was coming. Charlie wasn't claustrophobic but that didn't mean he liked being confined in small spaces.

"Get in."

Charlie did as he was told, sitting on the edge of the trunk and clumsily maneuvering inside. Trying to keep the weight off his sore shoulder, Charlie felt the wire dig even deeper into his wrists. He was pretty sure that they were either bleeding or going to very soon.

As the lid of closed, Charlie's world became dark and sore. He just hoped his father would come home soon and call for help.

1

Alan was tired. He had fun going out with Art, but it really wore on him. He didn't like days like this, when Don was so busy he didn't even have time for a phone call. He hated it when Don and Charlie weren't hanging around the house together as they had recently started to do.

He sighed as he entered the house and found all of Charlie's work scattered on the sitting room table. Charlie's leaving his work so cluttered annoyed Alan to no end; however, Charlie owned the house now, and he had the right to put his work wherever he wanted. Still, it was an incredible mess. Alan settled for promising himself to have a talk with Charlie about it the next day; he Alan couldn't stop being a father.

He climbed into bed, exhausted, never noticing the mess in the kitchen or that Charlie wasn't asleep in his room.

10

October 28th

Alan woke up late. He didn't usually sleep in on Sundays and was surprised that Charlie hadn't awakened him. The young energetic man rarely slept in or stood still for too long, and the house was abnormally quiet for a Sunday morning.

He showered and then checked Charlie's room just to be sure there was nothing wrong, was disturbed when he realized that Charlie wasn't there.

_'Could he have left early? He didn't mention any plans,' _Alan thought to himself.

Alan decided to get some coffee and then check on both of his sons. He knew that Don and his team were on an ongoing stakeout, but he still hoped he might be able to talk with him for a few minutes.

He entered the kitchen half asleep. It took only a fraction of a second to notice the broken door. It didn't look like anything else was damaged and nothing seemed to be missing. A terrible feeling swept through Alan's body. Something was _very_ wrong.

Taking a few steps back he examined the kitchen carefully. He tried to put himself at ease, telling himself that whatever had happened to the door was an accident. Unfortunately, it wasn't working. Alan kept scanning the room until he noticed a spot of scarlet on the floor not too far from where he stood. His mind told him what it was as he moved in for a closer look. Blood.

Something inside – borne of a father's instincts, sharpened through the years – told him the house was too quiet, that his son's work was too scattered, something told him it was Charlie's blood.

Wide awake now, and slightly scared, Alan stepped out of the kitchen and reached for the phone. He decided to try Charlie's cell first, hoping he'd answer, but was disappointed when he heard it ring a few feet away. Alan looked in Charlie's discarded bag and found the phone as well as his son's wallet and keys. The bad feeling was getting worse by the second. At times like these, he was happy to have a son in law enforcement. He dialed Don's office number a little shakily, hoping the sound of his voice would calm him down.

"Hello." A woman answered. It took Alan a second to register that it was Megan.

"Megan?"

"Mr. Eppes," she replied, surprised, "Don's not here right now. He's getting some rest after being up all night. Anything I can tell him?"

"Charlie's missing," Alan said a little more abruptly than he'd intended. He didn't have time for pleasantries but knew Megan would understand.

"_What?_" Megan sounded.

Years of knowing Don helped Alan tell her the facts as succinctly as possible. "I got back late last night and figured he was asleep. This morning I noticed he's not home but his cell phone and house keys are here." Alan paused before continuing, slightly more shaken. "The back door is broken off its hinges, and I found some… blood." Alan swallowed hard.

"Okay, don't move. I'm on my way."

Alan hung up the phone and lowered himself onto the couch. He didn't think he'd be able to move even he'd wanted.

_'How long has it been, Charlie? Were you gone the whole night?'_

11

Charlie fell asleep in the trunk. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but it felt like several hours. His shoulder was really throbbing now, and he was pretty sure that the constant pressure on his wrists had caused them to bleed. The cut above his eye had stopped bleeding but now felt swollen. His tongue felt swollen as well, and he could still taste the blood.

When the trunk finally opened, Charlie saw the morning sun rising over some buildings in what looked to be a deserted industrial area.

"Get out."

Charlie's body was numb from the cramped position he'd been in. He had difficulty climbing out and he had a feeling it'd been left in there for so long on purpose.

The man motioned Charlie with the gun and directed him into a old building.

They walked into a small room containing what Charlie could only describe as a dentist's chair from hell. It was metallic, strong and obviously not built for comfort. Special metal bands designed to restrain the ankles, wrists, and neck, were fashioned on it, and from the looks of them, they were capable of rendering a man completely immobile. After seeing this, Charlie wished for the trunk back. He slowed down, his every instinct telling him he should stay away from the chair, because he knew that once he was restrained in it; he would be there for a while.

Charlie's reluctance seemed to annoy his assailant, who decided to let Charlie know it. He gave a hard shove forward which sent the young mathematician to his knees. The man yanked Charlie back to his feet and steered him to the chair.

"Tell me about growing up with Don."

The question was so unexpected that Charlie had to pause for a few seconds to formulate an answer.

His speech a little slurred due to his swollen tongue, he replied, "Same as growing up with any other guy, I guess."

"That's because you don't know any differently."

Charlie paused again to consider. He realized this man must have some issues with Don and that he had to work the situation to his advantage somehow. "I guess. I wouldn't know."

"Turn around."

Charlie turned with his back to the chair.

"Sit down."

Charlie did as he was told while trying to figure a way out, but even a brilliant mind like his couldn't find it.

The man grabbed Charlie's ankles forcefully, and turned him around, placing Charlie's legs in their designated location. He took Charlie's shoes off with one hand while the other continued pointing the gun at the helpless mathematician. As he pulled his socks down to expose Charlie's ankle, he spoke. "Tell me about it."

Charlie did his best to concentrate on the conversation at hand and not on his abductor's actions. "Not much to tell. We were never very close." The man sealed the restraint around Charlie's bare right ankle. "I guess it didn't help that I annoyed the hell out of him."

The masked man looked Charlie in the eye as he secured his left ankle into place.

"Because you're so smart?"

He walked to Charlie's right, putting the gun in a holster and retrieving a large hunting knife.

"Yeah, well... I guess," Charlie stammered as the armed man approached him, knife in hand.

The blade cut through the wires that bound Charlie's wrists. He removed them, causing the cuts to bleed again as the wires were pulled from deep in Charlie's flesh.

"Lie down."

Charlie leaned back in the chair, which had been set to an almost horizontal position. His hands felt incredibly numb while his shoulders throbbed, an interesting contrast for his analytical mind. The mathematician kept talking while his right arm was pulled painfully to the side of his body. "I don't think Don and I were ever meant to understand each other." He gasped slightly as the metal ring closed on his raw flesh. His eyes followed as the masked man moved to Charlie's left side. Finally, he dared to ask a question.

"Why do you want to know about Don?"

The man looked at Charlie with an unreadable expression. "I don't like him."

The ring around Charlie's left wrist clicked, and Charlie had to force down an overwhelming feeling of panic over being trapped like this. Suddenly, he really wanted to stretch his muscles. "You know him?" Charlie voice sounded surprised yet oddly calm under the circumstance.

"No." The man moved to stand over Charlie's head, saying nothing more.

Charlie looked up nervously. When he first saw the chair he had seen there was some sort of neck restraint and he knew what was coming. Suddenly, Charlie had a need to attach a name or a face to the harsh voice. "What's your name; Who are you?" He was almost pleading, the terrible feeling of being trapped washing over him in waves. He tried to force himself to calm down and breathe evenly.

"You can call me John."

John put his hands on either side of Charlie's head and twisted so he could only see the ceiling above him.

"Okay," Charlie swallowed hard as John fastened the band around his neck. Once he heard the metal lock into place he tested the restraint. He could still move his head, though it was uncomfortable, as the band was set against his lower jaw. Every inch of his body was successfully secured to the chair. "Why am I here?"

"Don took my brother away from me," John replied. "So I took his."

Charlie did not expect this. He would've looked at John if he could, but the man had left his line of sight. The statement was said as if John were talking about a toy taken in grade school, not a human being.

"What are you going to do to me?"

John leaned over the chair, his face now directly in front of Charlie. "I guess we'll find out." With that, John left the room, leaving Charlie alone and immobile.

100

"David," Megan approached the young agent sitting at his desk. "I just talked with Alan Eppes and he says Charlie's missing. You busy right now?" she watched as he scanned through his e-mail.

"You're sure he didn't just fall asleep in his office or something?' Colby answered instead. "He does tend to do that sometimes."

"Yeah, but I don't like the sound of this. Alan wouldn't have called if it was something as simple as that."

"We should wake Don," David finally said without looking up from his computer.

"David, come on. He's got to get some-" Colby didn't finish his sentence as David interrupted.

"We just got an e-mail, all of us." He finally looked up at the two agents. "A picture of Charlie."

Both agents stepped closer so they could see the computer screen.

It was a picture of Charlie, looked to have been taken somewhere at his house. His face was cut and bleeding, though where the blood was from was not obvious. He looked somewhat dazed and unpleasantly surprised. Under the picture was typed "840".

The silence seemed to linger before Colby spoke.

"We should wake Don."

"David, go and get Don, and bring him to the house; Colby and I'll go to there now and see what Alan found."

Everyone agreed silently and walked to their respective tasks, a sense of urgency in their movements.

101

Don woke up in a bad mood, easily attributed to the fact that someone was banging at his door.

"I'm coming," he yelled to silence the banging. The stakeout he had been running for the past several days had left him sleep deprived and both physically and mentally exhausted.

He dragged himself out of bed, barely able to do even that simple task. "Who is it?" he called while walking towards the door.

"David."

The familiar voice woke Don partially. He knew David wouldn't have awakened him unless something urgent was happening. He opened the door, feeling groggy yet somewhat alert at the same time. Seeing the miserable look on his friend's face, he asked, "What's wrong?"

David stepped into Don's apartment, closing the door behind him. His every movement unnerved Don.

"David…" David put his hand up, affectively stopping Don from saying whatever it was he was going to say.

David walked into Don's living room. "Your father called the office today to tell you Charlie's missing."

"What do you mean 'missing'?" Don spoke slowly, his brain not completely awake.

"We all got an e-mail," David paused before taking a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handing it to Don.

"Oh, God," Don swallowed hard. He never ordered his knees to fold, yet he suddenly found himself sitting on the couch, staring at a nauseating picture of his little brother. More than anything else, he noticed the scared expression on his brother's face. He looked like the frightened little boy Don knew a long time ago, a boy who was way too smart, a boy who grew up too fast yet never grew up at all. He'd had that same look on his face when he and their mom left for his first year at Princeton. He'd been so scared to leave home and move to the other side of the country, to go to college without his big brother. Don always thought that the fact Charlie had to leave home, his dad, and his brother at such a young age was the reason he didn't want to move out now. Don had hoped he'd never have to see that expression again.

"It appears that he was taken from your dad's house sometimes between last night and this morning. Megan and Colby are there now."

For a split second, Don felt oddly amused, "Charlie's house."

"Right."

Don stood abruptly and headed into the shower. Sleep was the last thing on his mind.

110


	2. Chapter 2

**_ In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on  
_**

110

Megan and Colby were looking at the broken door. They had already called forensics and now were just waiting for David and Don. They were avoiding Alan's questions and they all knew it, including Alan who found their silence incredibly disturbing.

"Tell me what's going on." Alan spoke quietly and with an authority he had learned to use as a father, especially as a father to an absentminded mathematician and an FBI agent.

"Maybe we should wait for Don," Colby said, obviously unsure what to do when it came to his boss' family.

"Despite what you might think, Agent Granger," Alan retorted sharply, "I'm not a child, and I want to know what you know about my son." Alan rarely lost his temper, but he really didn't like it when people were trying to hide from him what had happened to either of his sons. His imagination was filling in for what they weren't telling him, and it was giving him images he didn't like.

"We think he was kidnapped," Megan said softly, seeming to sense that Alan's findings this morning and all the waiting he'd had to do were weighing heavily on him. They all knew that sometimes not knowing was worse than knowing the truth.

"Why?"

Alan's voice was controlled. He had had to deal with the danger in Don's job for a while, and he didn't raise a boy like Charlie by losing control at any sign of trouble. Still, he looked rather shaken.

"The man who took him sent us a picture of him," Megan said, her eyes momentarily shifted to the spot on the floor where Alan had found the blood.

"Was he hurt?"

"A few cuts, nothing serious." Megan smiled reassuringly and Alan released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Dad?" Don's voice carried from the main entrance to the house.

"We're in the kitchen."

Don walked into the room, taking in the scene. David had filled him in about the broken door and the blood, but he wasn't completely ready for it. Nor was he ready to see his father this shaken. "Anything?" He asked to no-one in particular.

"No." Megan answered, sounding frustrated. "And I talked with the tech guys, and they couldn't get anything off the e-mail. There was a number sent with the picture; maybe Larry and Amita could take a look at it."

"Do it."

Megan nodded and stepped outside to call Larry.

"Start asking questions." Don commanded. "Find out if there's anyone with a grudge against him. Also run down all our cases. That picture was sent to us for a reason."

Everyone acknowledged Don and moved away to do their job as well as to give father and son some time to speak.

"We'll find him, Dad."

Alan sighed. "I trust you, Donnie, it's just… we don't even know when he was taken. He could've been gone the whole night and I didn't even…" Alan couldn't finish his sentence.

"Don't blame yourself; you had no way of knowing."

"Don," Alan's tone became serious, "I want to see that picture."

"No," Don answered a little more harshly then he intended. He softened his voice. "Trust me; you really don't want to see it. It's not that he's injured, it's just… take my word on this, dad."

Alan nodded softly; unfortunately, he understood.

111

Charlie was sore. His bones were pressed against the chair's unyielding metal, and every small movement hurt. By the time he was finished testing his restraints, the length of his back and neck felt bruised, and he could barely move his head at all.

He closed his eyes tightly when he heard the door open. He felt his heart resuming its furious beat.

"Are you hungry, Charlie?"

The unexpected question came from Charlie's left. He wanted to nod in response but found that it hurt; instead, he mumbled something that he hoped sounded like a 'yes'.

"You know, it's been about sixteen hours; you must be thirsty too."

Charlie was past thirsty ten hours ago but said nothing.

"Here." John spoke softly while pressing some kind of wet cloth to Charlie's lips. Charlie sucked greedily at the welcomed moisture.

"Take it easy, Charlie. I won't let you get dehydrated." John removed the cloth from Charlie's mouth and gave him a straw. Charlie took in the water eagerly, knowing that it could be snatched from him at any second.

John removed the straw and paused. Charlie felt tense whenever John did that. He knew he was being watched, though he couldn't see John doing it. Instead, Charlie was getting very familiar with the stains in the ceiling.

"Eat," John ordered quietly and put a piece of bread next to Charlie's mouth. Charlie did as he was told and took a bite.

"Tell me more about Donnie." John fed him the bread piece by piece, letting Charlie speak between bites.

Charlie didn't like the way John used Don's name, creating a familiarity with someone it was obvious he hated. He spoke carefully, hoping he'd found a safe subject. "Like I said, there's not much to say. We pretty much stayed out of each other's way."

"You were in the same class," John said.

Charlie swallowed hard, the metal around his throat hurting when he swallowed.

"Yeah, but I'm his little brother; you know what it's like."

John's mood seemed to darken. "No," he yelled as Charlie heard some metallic items hitting the floor. "I don't know what it's like." Every word sounded like it was being forced out. "Not all brothers are bastards like yours." With that, John stormed out of his room, slamming the door behind him, Charlie's meal long forgotten.

Those few pieces of bread did not quiet Charlie's hunger. All he could do was to find a distraction in the patterns on the ceiling.

1000

Megan stepped into Larry's office quietly, not wanting to startle the professor.

"Megan, hello," Larry greeted her, looking somewhat surprised, "What's going on?"

"Larry," she began, knowing she had to say it quickly. "We think Charlie has been kidnapped." Megan let the information sink in, noting Larry's shocked expression. "We got an email with a number on the bottom, I thought maybe you or Amita could figure it out."

"When? How? Why?" Larry didn't seem to know what to ask first.

"We don't know too much," Megan stepped closer, trying to give some support to her friend. "The number on the picture was '840'. Talk to anyone Charlie might've worked with. Maybe it would mean something to someone."

Larry nodded silently. Looking like he was still trying to grasp what had happened to his good friend.

1001

Don felt like banging his head against the car's window. He'd let David drive him to the office, leaving his car in his apartment since he felt too charged up to drive himself. He was so deep in thought and distracted with worry that the ring of his cell phone startled him.

"Eppes."

"Good morning, Donnie."

Don's instinct told him something was off. He didn't recognize the voice, and no one outside of his family called him that.

"Who is this?"

"Don't be impolite, Donnie-boy. I'll let it slide this time because of your brother. Poor guy, he's not very comfortable right now; probably hungry too."

Don's buttons were being pushed, and he knew it. He quickly signaled for David to pull the car over to the side of the road and call for a trace.

"To answer your question, Donnie, you can call me John." He continued, "Charlie does anyway."

"Let me talk to him." Don realized that his voice sounded harsher than he'd intended.

"Don't be impolite, Donnie," John repeated as if he were talking to a child.

"Please," Don said through clenched teeth.

"I'll call you back."

The click of the phone told Don that John had hung up on him.

"Anything?"

David shook his head. "We didn't have enough time."

Don closed his eyes and sighed, rubbing his hand wearily over his face. He could feel a headache coming on.

1010

Charlie took a deep breath when he heard the door open again. He was beginning to worry about the extent of John's instability.

"We're going to play a game, Charlie." He could hear John rolling some equipment on the hard floor. "You see, I know what Donnie did to my brother, and now I need Donnie-boy to know what I'm doing to his brother. He's earned that right." John's words were full of venom, and Charlie had to take deep breaths to quell his fear. "So what I'm going to do is call your big brother and play some phone tag. Every time he makes a mistake, his little brother will pay, just like mine did. As long as he behaves himself, he gets to talk to you."

Charlie heard some computer equipment powering on and swallowed hard.

"Don't you talk about my brother, Charlie. I'm warning you, you'll regret it if you do." Charlie believed him. He didn't have a doubt that this man was unstable enough to do things even crazier than what he had done so far.

Charlie closed his eyes and counted heartbeats, waiting.

"Eppes." Charlie heard his brother's voice on speaker. He had never been this happy to hear that familiar voice.

"Don." Charlie's voice came out a little hoarse, and he attempted to clear his throat.

"Charlie?" Don asked. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Charlie kept his answer short. He felt like he was about to break down and cry.

"What's going on?" Don's tone of voice was slightly higher pitched, and Charlie realized he was worrying his brother.

"John knows you're trying to trace this call and he's doing something to hide our location. A high-tech hide and seek sort of thing."

Charlie listened to John's typing on the keyboard, bracing himself for something bad to happen.

"What's the catch?" Charlie chuckled at Don's comment, and as he did, he heard John hit a button that didn't sound like a computer key. It took Charlie a fraction of a second to realize what was happening. His first thought as the electric shock went through him was that he was sitting in a metallic chair with metallic restraints, a very bad idea considering the electricity surging through his body.

If anyone would've asked him, he could've never described the pain, nor say how long it lasted. It seemed to go on forever.

When his pain started to subside, he realized that he was hearing himself screaming, but his voice sounded strange. Only after the fire in his veins dulled somewhat did he realize that his body had arched away from the chair in reflex to the intense pain and that the ring around his neck pushed into his larynx, weakening his voice.

The white fire slowly subsided into a dull pain throughout his body, and Charlie could finally take a mental stock of himself. The joints that were bound to the chair and had fought against it now felt bruised and raw, and his shoulder had started throbbing again. He was fairly certain that there was no permanent damage; all John wanted was to cause pain.

Charlie kept quiet, catching his breath.

"That was the catch?" Don's voice was shaky at best. Charlie knew that hearing his brother going through that was killing Don and hated that there was nothing he could do to change it. He wished he could touch Don right about now.

"Yeah." Charlie's voice still sounded odd.

"So what do I have to do so that won't happen again?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know where you are?" Don changed the subject. Charlie assumed Megan or David were steering them that way.

"An abandoned industrial building somewhere. I don't know where."

Charlie heard the button again and tried to brace himself for what he knew was coming, but he never got the chance. The blazing fire returned with a vengeance and seemed to last for another eternity. Charlie didn't want to scream. He didn't want Don to have to listen to that again, but there was nothing he could do to stop. It was beyond his control. His own choked, screaming voice sounded like white noise in the background of it all. He tried to ride it out as best he could. He tried to concentrate on anything except his body. Eventually, he tried to go where he once promised Don he would never go again. He hoped Don would understand. But even P vs. NP couldn't distract him from this pain as it had helped with the pain of his mother's illness.

Eventually the agony dulled again to a throbbing that seemed to go everywhere. Charlie took a deep breath and opened his eyes, unsure of when he had closed them.

"Don?" his voice was disappearing, fast, and he couldn't let that happen. He needed his voice to talk with Don.

"I'm here, Charlie." Don cleared his throat, but Charlie could tell how hard Don had taken the screaming he had heard.

"Its okay, Donnie; I'm okay." Charlie really needed him to know that. He needed him to be strong for their father. He needed him to be strong, because he had never seen him any other way.

"Did he give you any food or water?"

"Yeah, it's okay." He couldn't lie to his brother, but he would stretch the truth if he could. He knew it, and Don knew it.

"Say goodbye, boys." John spoke for the first time.

"Hang on, Charlie; we'll find you."

"I know you'll do your best," Charlie said, and the line went dead.

Charlie could hear John once again fiddling with his equipment.

He stared at the ceiling, waiting for his aching muscles to ease, submerging his consciousness in P vs. NP.

1011

Don wiped absentmindedly at his eyes. He was extremely tired, but didn't dare go to sleep. He knew what he would dream about, and he wasn't ready to face it just yet. Besides, Charlie needed him.

The rest of his team each left to do their assigned tasks and gave Don some time to himself to go over case reports. The office around him was relatively quiet since everyone was unsettled by what they had heard Charlie go through.

Don buried his head in his hands. It had been five minutes since the connection with Charlie was severed, and he couldn't get his brother's weak voice or his agonizing screams out of his head. He knew they would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He felt like banging his head against the wall again. There were no forensic evidence at the house, no witnesses, no information on the e-mail, no trace, and he doubted there would be much on the tape. He didn't even know how long Charlie had been gone. They were assuming he'd been abducted sometime in the evening when no one was home, since Alan would've been awakened by the noise from the breaking door, but they just didn't know for sure. All Don could do was go over the files of cases Charlie had worked on, hoping to find someone with a grudge against them all.

Don sighed when his cell phone rang. He felt like throwing the phone out the window after the last conversation he had and never use it again, but right now it was his only link to his little brother.

"Eppes."

"Don? You don't sound very well." Don knew that Alan could always read his sons.

"We… we got a call from the kidnapper, and I talked with Charlie." Don wanted to reassure his father but couldn't find the strength to hide his exhaustion and worry over the conversation he had. "He said he's okay."

"And?"

Don knew Alan needed to know everything that had happened to his youngest son, but he couldn't bring him self to tell him what he had heard.

"He's okay, dad. I talked with him; he sounded okay, considering. We don't have anything more right now." Don put his best effort into sounding convincing.

"Why do I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me?"

"Dad –"

"I'm a grown man, Donnie." Alan cut him off. "I don't like it when my sons hide things from me, or the fact that you think you should. This is the last time I'm going to have this conversation with you. Tell me what's happening to my son." Alan didn't raise his voice, but his message came through loud and clear.

Don knew his father was right; he didn't have the right to keep this from him.

"He's in pain, Dad. I don't know what's happening to him, and we don't have any leads." With those words, Don felt like a huge weight was lifted from his shoulders.

"I know you'll do everything humanly possible, and you _will_ find him."

Don sighed heavily. "That's what he said."

"Well, you should listen to him. He _is_ a genius you know." Alan got a small smile from Don, though neither of them felt any better. "You sound exhausted."

"I can't sleep."

"Try and rest. You won't do him any good if you're too tired to see straight."

Don knew his father was right, and somewhere deep inside he knew Charlie could hear the strain and exhaustion in his voice, and the last thing he wanted was for Charlie to worry about _him_.

"It's just…" Don didn't want to finish the sentence. He didn't want his father to know he was afraid to dream.

"What?"

"Nevermind, Dad. I'll sleep soon." Don sighed deeply. He knew he couldn't get out of this conversation otherwise. "I promise; I'll come home, we'll have a meal together and I'll get some sleep."

Don said goodbye to his father and rubbed at his eyes again. He was exhausted.

1100


	3. Chapter 3

_** Snowflakes are one of nature's most fragile things, but just look what they can do when they stick together  
**_

1100

Megan and David sat together in the conference room, both staring silently at the picture of Charlie posted on the board. The picture unnerved both agents. Seeing someone they knew on the board felt different, to say the least, but to look and see a picture of Charlie laughing with his brother, see a picture of two loving brothers now both in pain was worse. They couldn't even imagine how hard it was for Don to look at it.

That picture had been sitting on Don's desk until an hour ago, when Don had tacked it on the board. He'd refused to return home and get some rest, but after the third time he'd fallen asleep on the reports he'd been reviewing, he'd given in, knowing full well he wasn't doing Charlie any good in his condition.

"Anything from Larry?" David asked hopefully.

"No." Megan sighed. "He said that number doesn't have any significant meaning that he knows of."

"We have no leads. We've gone over all of our case files, and we haven't been able to find something there."

"Everyone we caught with Charlie's help is still in jail," Megan said.

David shook his head slowly, a wry grin on his face. "You know what we usually do when we have no leads?"

"Call Charlie," Megan replied, noticing the irony in the situation.

"Maybe that's what it's all about, Charlie not catching whoever this is-"

"It doesn't fit this guy's profile. He's taunting us. Sending that picture specifically to each of us so he knew we'd all see it, especially Don, is very personal. And that cat and mouse game with the phone call so we'd hear Charlie…" Megan trailed off thoughtfully.

"What?"

"This John guy," she mused. "There's something in the way he talks to Don. He calls him 'Donnie' and 'Donnie-boy'. I don't think this is about Charlie at all. ." She looked at David, an idea taking shape. "Don's the target. Someone's trying to get to him by taking Charlie."

"So we should be looking at people who have it in for Don?"

"Probably," Megan shrugged. "But in a decade in law enforcement, you can make a lot of enemies. It'll take us forever to go over the potential list of suspects. Maybe Amita can help us with the computer module Charlie built when the judge's wife was killed."

"I'll talk with her," David said, standing up.

"I'll start pulling all the files Don worked on." Megan stood as well.

Both agents felt a new wave of energy wash over them. They finally had something to work with. The day had slipped away from them, and they had no leads. If they were right that Charlie was taken the evening before, then he'd been missing for over 24 hours, and that didn't look good.

1101

October 29th

Charlie was groggy. He wasn't sure what had awakened him, and his whole body seemed to be throbbing. He tried to get up from the uncomfortable position he had fallen asleep in and felt something biting into his throat. Suddenly, the memories started rushing back; the abduction, the car, John, the chair and the pain. More than anything, he remembered the pain.

It wasn't until John spoke that Charlie realized he wasn't alone in the room.

"Good morning, Charlie." He could hear John walking towards him.

"Morning?" Charlie hadn't realized he had lost all track of time until John had mentioned it.

"Yeah, you slept for a really long time. I guess you were tired." Charlie couldn't decide if John were serious. "You know, they say that if you don't find a kidnapping victim in the first 24 to 48 hours, you'll probably never find them. It's been 38 hours already. Donnie doesn't have his head in the game."

Charlie knew the numbers very well, too well. If they didn't find him soon, the odds were against them ever finding him at all.

"You should really eat." John spoke like he would to a small child who refused to finish his vegetables. He held something to Charlie's mouth which he couldn't see.

Charlie ate. He could do the math. If he kept eating this way, he would eventually starve to death. Knowing how badly he needed this meal, Charlie was very careful with what he said.

"Thank you."

"Has Don ever hurt you?"

"What do you mean? Physically?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, a few times." Charlie didn't add the fact that it was just a big brother and a younger one sparring the way most brothers did. He knew this would set John off, and as long as his captor was calm, Charlie got to eat.

"Were you hurt badly?" John held a straw to Charlie's lips, waiting for him to finish before he answered.

He paused, pretending he was trying to remember his childhood. "Not that I remember. I never had to go to a doctor or anything."

"I never hit my brother." John's confession surprised Charlie, who kept eating quietly. "Whenever my dad went off on us, I always protected my brother." John leaned forward into Charlie's line of sight, now free of the ski mask that had hidden his face. Charlie knew that John revealing his face didn't bode well for his future, but he swallowed his panic and tried to focus on the conversation. "You see, Charlie, not all brothers hit their siblings."

"I guess that's just what I'm used to." Charlie knew he was a bad liar, so he tried to stretch the truth as much as he could.

John moved away again, and Charlie got another bite to eat. He felt like a dog that was getting an award every time he performed a trick successfully.

"What's his name?" Charlie asked hesitatingly.

"Whose?"

"Your brother. You've mentioned him before," Charlie said, more sure of himself when he heard John's even voice.

John seemed to have been taken by surprise but replied calmly. "It's better if you don't know that."

"Okay."

"Let's call Donnie." John was halfway out of his seat when Charlie spoke.

"No, please don't."

Charlie didn't think he'd survive that torture again, nor did he want Don to go through it again.

"Why not?"

"It hurts too much."

"Okay, then let's send him a tape." John seemed to be very accommodating. He offered Charlie another drink of water.

"A tape?"

"Yep, a video," John replied. "But this time you'll have to say what I tell you."

John walked away again, leaving Charlie with an unbearable need to move, and the inability to do so. He felt like he was going crazy.

1110

Don was now hours into his search through the files. Reading the same line for the third time, he took another sip from his coffee. He had awakened in the middle of the night, after a few hours of sleep that refreshed him a little. He had driven to the office long before his father woke up to ask him questions.

When Don had arrived at the office, he'd found a note from Megan, who'd known he would be there long before she would.

_Don, _

_We think this guy is after you in some way. The conference room is filled with files you've worked on. I'll see you in the morning, _

_Megan._

With the arrival of morning came people filing into the office like it was any other day. It annoyed Don. He knew most of them had no idea what was happening, and his team who did know, had arrived very early in the morning, probably sleeping as much as Don had.

The pile of files that were labeled 'Maybe' was growing by the second.

"David, what did Amita say about the computer program?" Megan asked.

"She said she'll work on modifying it, but it will take a while." David put the file he had been working on in the 'No' pile and moved on to the next.

"Damn, I was hoping it would be ready soon."

"Don," a female agent spoke from the doorway, "there's a package for you. We already checked it for prints." The woman paused. "It's a video tape."

"Thank you," Don replied and took the tape from her.

"It was addressed to Donnie from John."

Don nodded and slid the tape into the VCR, not wanting to waste a second.

A picture of Charlie appeared on the screen, as they had expected. The cuts on his face were more visible, and the blood more pronounced against the paleness of his skin.

Don paused the tape. "What's around his neck?" he asked.

His question went unanswered. Charlie seemed to be lying on his back, the camera positioned above him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Don knew that whatever was around Charlie's neck was the reason Charlie's voice seemed to sound choked and hoarse during their conversation.

Don hit play, letting his brother speak.

"Now you know how it feels to not know what's happening." Charlie said. "Now you know what real pain is, or at least you think you do, because you heard it yesterday. We both know the numbers, Donnie. We both know what happens next. You will never see me again; this is goodbye." Charlie seemed to have some difficulty speaking. Don couldn't make out what the problem was, but he didn't like the way his brother sounded. He had to blink away the moisture building in the corners of his eye.

"John will let me live," his brother continued. "But you and dad will never see me again. You'll always have to live with the fact that I'm being tortured, and you never found me."

Charlie's voice cracked a little, obviously disturbed by the idea of torture.

"You have never been a good brother." Don could see how much Charlie hated saying these words, but hearing them was still hard for him. "So this right will be taken from you and given to a much more deserving man. You are nobody's brother anymore.

"Please tell dad how much I love him, and thank him for everything he has done for me over the years. I'm sorry I wasn't a better son. I'm sorry this is happening to him."

They could see a few tears streaming down the sides of Charlie's face, leaving their trail in his blood. Despite it all, Charlie's voice kept steady.

"I'm so sorry, Donnie, you tell him that.

"Goodbye."

The screen went black, and the number '2280' appeared. Don closed his eyes, desperate to chase away the picture of his brother burning itself into his memory. He knew that what Charlie had said wasn't what he thought, but it didn't make hearing those words any easier.

A moment later, Don opened his eyes and saw his team's attention on the doorway. He had a bad feeling as he turned around and saw his father.

Alan stood frozen, looking at the number without really seeing it, instead seeing his son, whose face was on the screen only seconds ago. "God." He whispered.

"Yeah." Don didn't try to hide from his father anymore, though he preferred that Alan had never seen this video.

"He said… he's being tortured," Alan said, barely able to finish the sentence.

"Yeah."

"Don," Alan waited for his son to look at him, "I know you can do this."

"Yeah." Don didn't have the energy to speak. He returned to his files, looking for someone who would have a grudge and was out of jail. Their search for an empty industrial building wasn't going much better.

There were too many possibilities.

1111

Alan drove home in silence, because the upbeat music on the radio was annoying him. He trusted Don to find Charlie, trusted Don's team who had solved so many crimes.

Don seemed tired again; this time it was emotional rather than physical. Alan knew Don was blaming himself and that Charlie's words had hurt him, even though they both knew Charlie didn't choose them.

The images of his youngest son from the video made Alan physically ill. After seeing the fear and misery on Charlie's face, Alan now understood why Don hadn't wanted him to see it. He would never tell Don that, nor would he regret seeing his son, no matter how he looked.

Alan knew that when Charlie had talked to him on the tape, he had meant everything he'd said. He wanted nothing more than to put his arms around his youngest son and tell him how good of a son he really was, to tell him that everything would be okay.

10000


	4. Chapter 4

_** I don't think of all the misery, but of all the beauty that still remains  
**_

10000

"Don's probably looking for this place." John's voice carried over to Charlie from the door. Charlie hadn't even realized he was in the room.

"Probably."

"I'm moving us to a new location, but you're going to have to play by the rules." John's tone made Charlie nervous. "You'll have your own room at our place so you should feel better away from the chair."

The prospect of getting out of the chair was enough for Charlie to be somewhat more relaxed, but he didn't forget what he had been forced to say on the tape, John had promised he would torture him, and he believed it. Charlie hated saying those words to Don. He knew how much they would hurt, but there hadn't been any point in fighting John on it.

"Does it hurt? The chair, I mean." John walked closer to the chair.

"I'm kind of numb, really." It was true. He could barely feel half his body.

"It'll be over soon." John sounded caring.

Suddenly Charlie felt something cold and wet on his forehead. "What are you doing?"

"I want to clean some of the blood from your face and hair."

The water felt good. It was too cold, but it didn't matter to Charlie. The smell of his own blood nauseated him.

"You said I'll have to play by the rules. What are the rules?"

"We're going to move to a house, and I'm going to get you your own room and a bed." John replied. "We can't tell anyone you're a math genius, so here's what we'll do. Have you ever seen the movie 'Rain man'?"

"Yes." Charlie had seen it. He'd been confronted with it his whole life. An autistic man gifted in math was the way many people who didn't understand his gift thought of him when he was younger, and there had been a time in his life when he was a toddler that the doctors had thought he was like the Rain man. He really hated that movie.

"Then you know what you'll have to do. I'll tell people you imagine things and if you ask someone for help, I'll kill that person and put you back in this chair. Understood?"

Charlie swallowed. "Yes."

"I meant what you told your brother, you know. He didn't treat you right, and he doesn't deserve you, so now you're my brother. It'll be better; you'll see." Charlie didn't even know how to answer that statement. John kept talking while washing Charlie's hair. "I know it sounds strange, but I've lost my brother, and you've lost yours, so now I'm going to take care of you. I'm not sure how we'll do this yet, but we'll figure it out."

Charlie closed his eyes as the wet cloth went over his face. He was trying as hard as he could to conjure up a picture of Don to calm him down. Don had always had that effect on him when they were kids, and he needed that now as John talked so casually about taking him away. Charlie shuddered in revulsion every time John touched him, something that didn't go unnoticed.

"Are you cold?"

John seemed to take Charlie's silence as a yes. He finished cleaning Charlie and left the room, returning a few minutes later.

"Maybe this will help." John spread a blanket over Charlie's motionless body.

Charlie was sure that if he tried to move it would be very painful. The blanket didn't make him feel much better.

"You look sad, Charlie; what's wrong?" John's questions seemed to get stranger by the moment.

"My dad. He's given up a lot for me, and I hate doing this to him."

John seemed to consider this. "It wasn't easy to raise a boy like you."

"I wouldn't think so. Paying for all my tutors, my going to college when I was thirteen and my mom coming with me. She was his _wife_. It must have been very hard, but they gave everything for me." Charlie pleaded with John to understand.

"Where was Don when you left for school?"

"He went to college too. Dad was left home alone."

"We can call your dad if you want; I guess he deserves a personal goodbye from you. And it'll do you some good too. Give you some closure with him." John made Charlie want to cry.

"Really?" he forced his voice to sound thankful and hopeful.

"Yeah, I'll go set up the call right now."

"Is there anything I shouldn't say?" As much as he wanted to talk to his father, Charlie didn't want Alan to have to remember him screaming.

"It's good that you're careful. Just don't talk about me. Take the time to say goodbye."

Charlie couldn't find his voice to answer. Saying goodbye to his father forever sounded like something out of his worst nightmare.

10001

Alan was trying to work. He'd been staring at a blueprint in his dining room for the past hour, but its contents didn't seem to register. His mind kept wandering to his son. He practically fell out of his chair when the phone rang.

"Hello."

"Hi, Dad." Alan's knees buckled and he sat down on the couch the second he heard Charlie's voice.

"Charlie, are you okay?"

"I'm okay." Charlie sounded distressed. "I just wanted to hear your voice and tell you..." He couldn't finish.

"Listen to me, Son. I saw the tape, and I want you to know you have nothing to be sorry for. You're a wonderful son, and you'll be okay; we'll get you home. Do you hear me?" Alan swallowed hard.

"Thank you, Dad, but I don't think..." Charlie paused. "John says he'll let me live, but I'll never see you again."

"Don't you _dare_ say goodbye, Charlie." Alan couldn't bear the idea.

"I have to." Alan could hear raw anguish in Charlie's voice. "I can't live with John and think about you. I need you to know that I'm alive and that I'm okay. And I need to know you're okay, too."

"Don't worry about me."

"I know you. I know what this is doing to you. I need to know you're okay."

Alan wanted to cry and scream and do anything except say goodbye to his son, but he could tell that Charlie needed to hear everything would be all right on his and Don's end.

"I'll be all right. I _will_ see you again."

Charlie was now openly crying, his voice cracking with his every word. "I hope so, Dad. It's just so hard, and I can't..." Charlie couldn't finish, wouldn't finish, and Alan knew why.

"Is he hurting you?" Alan's paternal instincts took over, and all he wanted was to know his young son was doing well.

"It's better now."

"Is he taking care of you?" Alan asked. "Are you hungry or thirsty?"

"I ate earlier. Not a lot, but I'm okay."

"Are you hurt?" He pressed.

"I can't feel anything, and I can't move." Charlie's voice was almost too weak to be heard.

Alan just wanted to protect his son and make everything better like when Don and Charlie were kids, but now he didn't know how to help.

"You can do this. You're a strong man-"

"No, I'm not. John..." Charlie breathed heavily and started over. "It's been almost two days, and we're going to leave this place soon and then-"

"Don't say that." Alan raised his voice slightly. "I'm your father, and you _will_ see me again. Understood?"

"I have to say goodbye now."

"No, Charlie, listen to me." Alan said desperately. "You hold on. Promise me you'll be alive when we find you. That you'll still be you. _Promise me_."

"I'll try." Charlie paused. "You take care of each other."

"We will."

"Goodbye." The line went dead.

Alan sat there, with the phone in his hand for a few moments, absorbing what just happened and how desperate Charlie had sounded. After a few minutes, he pressed the hookswitch for a new tone, and dialed the familiar number.

It was a few seconds before a familiar voice picked up.

"Eppes."

"Don."

"Hey, Dad. I don't have anything new to tell y-"

"I just talked to Charlie." Alan cut him off.

"What?" Don shock and surprise hummed through the line. "Are you at home?"

"Yes," he replied wearily.

"I'm on my way."

Alan trusted his son. He trusted Don with his own life and with the life of his youngest. He just wished it wasn't necessary.

10010

Don and Megan reached Charlie's house twenty minutes later. Megan had insisted Don didn't go alone to talk to his father. She knew how hard this was on the Eppes family and that they would need someone to keep a level head.

"Dad," Don called as they entered the house.

"I'm in the dining room."

They walked into the room where Alan was waiting for them with a cup of coffee in his hands. Megan walked straight to the kitchen to pour herself and Don some coffee and give father and son some time alone.

Don sat up to his father's right, putting a comforting hand on his arm. "How is he?"

"Whatever's happening, it's hard for him. He said he can't move or feel anything. And he called to say goodbye, Donnie." Alan leaned in a little, "Said John was taking him away and that we'll never see him again. He wanted to know that we'd be okay."

"Taking him away where?" Megan asked from the doorway, holding two cups of coffee.

"He didn't say. I don't think he knows much about this guy's plans."

"What else did he say?"

Alan talked slowly. "Not much. He's not in pain right now, but he was at some point. He sounded very weak. He called to make sure that we're okay and that we'll take care of each other."

"Did he say anything about John?" Megan asked, now sitting next to Don.

"No. Nothing about John and nothing about where he was. I got the impression he was trying not to mention your name, Donnie."

"I doubt John would've let him say anything along those lines," Megan contemplated out loud. "He probably doesn't have much hope of tipping us off and surviving it." Megan regretted the harsh words as soon as she saw Alan's pale face, but she knew he wasn't surprised. "What I am curious about is why you think he was intentionally not mentioning Don."

"He called to say goodbye and that we'll never see him again but didn't mention Don." Alan momentarily looked at Megan. "That just doesn't sound like Charlie. He also said something about us taking care of each other, but the way he phrased it sounded weird; like he didn't want to say who he was referring to."

Don looked at Megan. "What are you thinking?"

"We've been working under the assumption that this guy has it in for you. Charlie avoiding mentioning you could mean that John does hate you and that Charlie knows it," she answered.

"You're saying that Charlie knows why this is happening."

"Yes. And I think he told us the only way he could."

"How did he sound?" Don looked at his father again.

"Scared. Sad. He didn't sound like he has much hope."

"We'll find him." Don searched for the right words to say, "At least we know he's okay."

"Somehow," Alan shook his head. "That's just not enough."

"I know," Don said softly, looking down at his hands.

They sat there in silence, sipping their coffee, each lost in their own thoughts over the whereabouts of Charles Eppes.

10011

The four Federal agents were sitting in the conference room again, trying to brainstorm a solution to their problem.

"This is getting us nowhere." Colby sighed, "We have a list of over four hundred empty industrial buildings and of two hundred criminals and their family members who might have a motive to kidnap Charlie to get to Don. We have to narrow it down somehow."

"Anything from Amita?" Megan asked.

"Nothing yet," David replied. "What about the number on the tape?"

"The same as the one in the email. Larry hasn't found anything unique about it."

"Amita said something about the numbers," David stated, "She said these numbers would be instinctively considered 'beautiful' numbers, which means they can be divided by a lot of small numbers. But that doesn't give us much."

"Two days," Don sighed deeply. "This can't be happening." He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "Are we running those names and the buildings?"

"I'm running the buildings." Colby replied. "We have several FBI teams as well as LAPD going over them. We hope to find the right building before John moves to a different location."

"We're working with a number of people on our list of suspects," Megan added, "but I'm afraid it will take a while."

"We don't have a while, Megan." Don leveled a look at her.

"We're working on it, Don." Megan said calmly. "We're all doing everything we can."

"I know." He sighed in defeat. "I've been looking over the case files myself, trying to see if anything jumps out at me, but nothing so far."

Megan leaned in close to Don, trying to offer some comfort, "We'll find him. It's just taking a bit longer than we expected."

Don nodded at his friend. They were all doing their best but their lack of progress left Don incredibly frustrated.

10100


	5. Chapter 5

_** Life would be much easier if I had the source code **_

10100

_Don walked through a dark hallway. The metal of his gun seemed to burn his hands yet be cool to the touch. His heart beat so loudly in his own ears he thought he could hear it echoing in the empty space. The hallway seemed to go on forever with only one door looming at its end. _

_When the door was finally within Don's reach, he hesitated. For a reason he couldn't remember, he feared what was behind the door. Slowly, his hand reached out and turned the handle._

_The room was even darker than the hallway, so it took Don's eyes several seconds to adjust to the lack of lighting. His eyes saw the form of a body facedown on the floor long before his mind had registered it. He walked towards it and bent down to feel for a pulse. There was none._

_Don turned the body to face him and froze while staring at the still face of his baby brother. He felt bile rise in his throat as he looked into his brother's sad eyes as they were staring into nothingness._

_Suddenly, the dead lips whispered, "It's your fault."_

Don sat up with a start. He had fallen asleep in his office while reviewing an old file. He could still feel the bile from the dream deep in his throat.

He knew he had to find Charlie soon.

10101

October 30th

"Good morning, Charlie," John's cheerful greeting woke the mathematician from his sleep. He still felt exhausted, despite resting for quite a few hours. "Breakfast's ready."

"Morning," Charlie mumbled, half asleep.

"We'll be moving today, but first you've got to eat." John touched Charlie's lips with a straw, and Charlie drank fast. "I'm sorry I haven't given you more food and water. I know it hurts. I've been busy with finding us a place. Everything will be better once we move."

Charlie said nothing, opting to use the time to drink some more.

"I won't tie you up this time, but you'll still have to travel in the trunk." John informed him.

Charlie almost laughed at the absurdity of that statement. He knew he would have some problems moving for quite some time. Why tie up someone who can't move anyway?

John kept speaking as he fed Charlie his breakfast.

"The house is a bit far from here, so I padded the trunk for you. I know that right now everything will hurt, but we'll take care of that." John stopped speaking, leaving the questions for Charlie.

"Take care of it?" Charlie asked between bites.

John moved a needle into Charlie's small view of the world. "Some pain killers. It won't knock you out, but you will be kinda out of it for a while."

Charlie wasn't sure that would be a bad thing. He would welcome being 'out of it' at this point.

John brought another bite to Charlie's lips and this time Charlie felt the glove on John's hand. He wondered if John had always worn gloves and if there were a chance that Don would find fingerprints.

"I'm sorry about this, Charlie." John said ominously.

Charlie felt his left arm protest as John cut into his flesh with the hunting knife, blood dripping to the floor.

"I need some blood. I'm sorry I have to hurt you again. But it's not deep; it'll heal fast."

Once John stopped cutting, he gave Charlie a few more bites to eat and then left the room.

10110

Don needed to get out of the office. He joined Colby in his search through the list of industrial buildings in L.A. Doing some of the leg work made him feel like he was doing _something_ instead of going stir crazy sitting in his office.

He and Colby had called the owners of the buildings on their lists and set it up so they would meet them there to let them in to search.

10111

"Time to go, Charlie." John walked towards Charlie lazily.

"Okay," Charlie rasped out. Fear seemed to make his voice disappear.

His right hand was suddenly released from its restraint and was turned over, revealing his inner arm. He felt the needle going into his flesh and the cool fluid pushed into him. Charlie was almost ashamed to admit how much he wanted to not feel anything at a time when he should be completely aware of his surroundings.

While they were waiting for the drug to take effect, John undid Charlie's restraints, starting with his legs and moving up his body. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief when the hard ring was removed from his neck.

By the time Charlie was completely free to move he was unable to do so. He didn't know if it was the effect of the last few days of mistreatment or if it was just the drug. Eventually he decided it didn't really matter.

John stood by his side, pausing for a second. Charlie, as always, tried to figure out what was going through his captor's head with little success. When he moved again, John slid his arms under Charlie's back and knees, lifting him off the chair.

His movements were slow and considerate, obviously trying not to cause Charlie any pain. Charlie knew that without the pain killer he would be suffering, but instead there was only a little discomfort. He knew the drug would eventually wear off and that he would have some difficulty functioning for a while, but at the moment, he didn't care. His analytical mind couldn't help but wonder why a person who tortured him would give him a pain killer.

John carried Charlie a few feet and then laid him on the floor.

"I'll be right back."

Charlie watched as John dismantled the chair and carried the pieces outside. Once he was done, he placed a piece of paper where the chair had been and then walked back to Charlie.

The young genius kept praying he would hear a familiar voice yelling 'FBI! Freeze!', but the words never came.

"Come here," John said as if he spoke to a loving child and put his arm under Charlie's back, pulling him into a sitting position. He carefully put Charlie's arms in his lap, avoiding his severely bruised wrists. He then settled Charlie's head on his shoulder, trying to spare his neck any strain.

He tenderly slipped his arm under Charlie's legs and lifted him up. When Charlie was secure in his arms, he started walking out the door.

Charlie closed his eyes as the brunt of the Californian sun hit them. He had forgotten it had been days since he had seen the light of day.

He was lowered gently into the trunk. John took his time positioning him comfortably on his side before closing the trunk on him.

"I'll see you soon, buddy," John's voice was muffled through the closed lid.

Charlie's world was dark once again and as the car drove away, whatever hope he had of seeing his family again slipped away. Right there, in the darkness and emptiness of John's trunk, Charlie began to cry.

11000

Don and Colby were on their third building that day and Don was becoming more and more edgy as time went on.

As soon as they entered the building they split up, each taking a different direction.

"Don," Colby called out to his boss.

"I'm coming."

Don hurried to where Colby's voice had come from. He found himself entering an empty room, finding nothing distinctively different about it. Only when he approached Colby who was standing in the middle of the room did he see what had caused the young agent to call him.

On the floor, right by Colby's feet, was a note.

Don knelt down to read it, careful not to touch anything, "Too late, Donnie. 3780."

"I already called forensics," Colby told his friend.

"It's written in blood," Don murmured to himself.

Colby felt his stomach lurch as he realized what Don had said, and what it could mean. He prayed to God he was wrong.

11001

David and Megan were interviewing the building's owner while Don was watching through the one way mirror. It didn't take long for the forensic results to come back. There were no finger prints and no DNA except the blood on the note. A positive match for Charlie's DNA could be done by checking it against his family's but it would take a while. For now they knew it was the same blood type and it was enough for Don.

John was taunting them and they knew it.

"Who rented the building from you?" David asked.

"John Eppes," said the man hesitatingly. "But I'm not sure he had the chance to move in yet."

"He moved in and out." Megan said, mostly to herself.

"Can you describe him to a sketch artist?" David continued.

"I've never seen him. We closed the deal on the phone. My lawyer might know, though." He tried to be helpful. Once his alibi had been checked out they had no reason not to believe him. There seemed to be nothing else they could do.

"We'll need his contact information."

"Of course."

Megan stepped out of the interrogation room and right into the back room where Don was waiting.

"How are you doing?" She asked softly. Megan could see the answer to her question since it was written all over his face. But he needed to say the words, needed to hear himself say them.

"I'm... scared," Don admitted for the first time. He wasn't the kind of man who let his guard down too often, but his brother's kidnapping left him at a loss. He had no idea how to face his father and tell him he lost his son. He couldn't even look at the mirror. The tired, worn down man that starred back at him longed for his baby brother and Don had no answers left to give.

"How's your father holding up?"

"He barely leaves the house. He keeps waiting for Charlie to call or come back." Don found that hard to admit.

"I think that whoever this John is, he's been planning this for a while and he planned it well."

"There _has_ to be something we're missing," Don said, banging his fist against the table in frustration. "I'm not letting this happen to him."

"I think you need to accept that this will take longer than we want. You can't keep going without food and sleep the way you have been. You won't do Charlie any good." Megan put her hands on Don's shoulders, making him face her.

"I can't sleep, Megan. I keep dreaming." Don couldn't say anymore but it was enough for Megan to understand.

"I wish I could change that."

"I know," Don gave Megan a weak smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's weird. I spent years away from home working for the FBI and we barely talked. Now, he's gone for a few days and I miss him so much it hurts." Don could feel tears forming, and did everything he could to stop them.

"You only recently started seeing him as a man you could be friends with and not just your brilliant little brother." Megan smiled. "You miss your friend, not just your brother. That's why it hurts so much."

Don knew she was right. Seeing Charlie interact as an adult, and seeing what he could do with math in Don's own line of work made him see Charlie as more than his baby brother. He had to admit he was often impressed. "Maybe." He offered Megan a warm smile.

"We'll find him, I promise," Megan raised her hand to stop Don from saying anything. "He's not just your brother, he's one of us. And I'm speaking on everyone's behalf when I say that we'll do whatever we have to."

"Thank you, for saying that."

"You're very welcome. Now go get some sleep." Don smiled and shook his head. He would go to sleep soon, but not yet.

11010

Charlie tried to count heartbeats in order to figure out how long they were driving, but stopped when he realized it had been hours and the margin of error would be too big to draw accurate conclusions. The medication was starting to wear off and the ride was becoming more and more uncomfortable. He was thankful to find that he wasn't in a lot of pain, but the weakness and discomfort bothered him. The uneasiness only increased when the car pulled to a stop.

Charlie closed his eyes as the trunk lid lifted to reveal the harsh Californian sunlight.

"Sorry," John spoke for the first time in hours. "Your eyes must really hurt."

Charlie couldn't find the strength to give a decent comeback.

"Here." John opened a bottle of water and put it in Charlie's hands. "Can you drink this on your own?"

"Not lying down." His voice was hoarse and dry.

"Right." John pulled Charlie into a sitting position with his back against the side of the trunk. Once he was settled Charlie lifted the bottle to his lips and took his time drinking. His eyes got used to the light eventually, and he looked around for where they were. All he could tell was that he was out of the city on some deserted road.

When Charlie was done drinking, John settled him back in the trunk. "We're almost there, buddy," John said, closing the lid again.

Charlie wanted to throw up when he heard John use the nickname Don always used. It didn't really sound like a term of endearment when John said it.

He occupied his mind trying to settle his frail nerves and didn't even notice when the car started to move again.

11011


	6. Chapter 6

******_Man can live about forty days without food, about three days without water, about eight minutes without air, but only for one second without hope_**

11011

_Don was in the dark hallway again. This time he_ _decided he didn't want to open the door. But it seemed that the more he tried to walk away from it, the closer he got. Even when the door was within his reach he refused to open it._

_He could hear a voice whispering from behind the door, "You were never a good brother, Donnie. It's all your fault."_

_The voice sent chills up his spine. His baby brother's voice was all around him, "Donnie..."_

Don sat up, covered with sweat. "Where are you, Charlie?"

11100

Charlie woke up in John's arms. He opened his eyes carefully and looked around in the dimmer lighting of the after noon at a neighborhood he had never seen before. The large yards and white picket fences pointed to families and children in the area. He had no idea where he was, but he was pretty sure it wasn't L.A.

He looked up at John who was carrying him again and then looked at the closed trunk. "What's going on? Where are we?"

"Home," John answered nonchalantly.

Charlie finally looked where John was putting him down - a wheelchair set right next to the car.

"You can't walk yet so I thought I'd make things more comfortable for both of us. Don't worry. You'll get by fine and I'll help you when you need it."

Even the idea of sitting in a wheelchair made Charlie want to cry. He was a very active person and the inability to walk made his stomach turn. John lowered him into the chair, very careful not to harm him.

"I really don't want to be in this wheelchair, John." Charlie tried pleading with his jailor. He could see that John was inclined to listen to his wants and he decided to find out just how much. He knew he would never be able to get back home as long as he was confined to a wheelchair.

"I know."

John knelt down in front of Charlie, lifted his feet and set them on the footrests. He released the brakes and started wheeling Charlie towards the house. There was nothing exceptional about the house. Just a very average private home in what looked like a very average neighborhood. John turned the chair and wheeled it backwards up the steps at the entrance to the house. Facing the street, Charlie had a chance to size up his new environment again. He wanted to scream for help from one of those average-looking houses but knew that John would kill him before anyone would even know what was going on.

John took Charlie to the kitchen, putting the brakes back on next to the dining room table.

"I bought us some food. Why don't you help me set the table so we can eat?"

Charlie didn't answer. He unpacked the food from the bags while John got some plates from the cabinets. He didn't feel like carrying a conversation and just wanted to enjoy a good meal and some water, but John seemed to have a different idea in mind.

"Do you like the house?" John asked enthusiastically, sitting across from Charlie.

"It's nice."

"I didn't know what kind of food you like." John spoke again.

"This is fine." Charlie didn't know what he was eating and wasn't sure he cared. At this point, he was just happy to have something in his stomach.

"I want to talk to you about something." John continued without looking at Charlie, "I want you to forget about Don - he doesn't exist."

Charlie froze for a second, not knowing how to react.

"I'm your brother now and I'll take care of you, like he never did." John went on firmly. "I don't want to hear his name in this house again. This is our home. As far as anyone's concerned our names are John and Charlie Mann and I want you to feel that way too. He's dead, do you understand?"

Charlie nodded quietly, keeping his eyes on his plate.

"I registered our parents as Alan and Margaret Mann because I know how much you love them but that's it, he doesn't exist." John took a sip from his glass and continued, "If anyone asks, you had an accident. That will explain the chair and why you don't leave the house. I will tell people you're autistic like we discussed, and they won't believe what you say. I just thought you should know that."

Charlie nodded again, trying to fight his sudden lack of appetite.

"I bought you some clothes and stuff, I'll show you when we're done eating."

"I'm done," Charlie said when he could no longer look at the food in front of him.

"In that case, let's go. I'm sure you'd love a shower and everything's ready for you." John took the wheelchair and led him to the basement door, located next to the entrance. When he opened it, Charlie saw several stairs which led down to a closed door. John lowered him down the steep staircase carefully. Charlie recoiled slightly when he saw the large padlock on the door. He would never be able to break through it from the inside.

John opened the door ceremoniously, showing Charlie where he'd be staying. It was a small room, dimly lit by a bulb in the middle of the ceiling, and had no windows. It had a cot to sleep on in the far corner of the room and a small closet next to it, but was pretty much bare otherwise.

"This is your room," John said as if they had just entered the Four Seasons Hotel. "That's the bathroom." He pointed to the door next to the bed. "I added some railing so you'll be able to manage when you're weak, like now. You'll find what you need in the cabinet there."

John knelt in front of him, putting his hands on Charlie's knees.

"You do understand I can't give you a razor or anything, so why don't I give you a shave?"

John sounded perky which annoyed Charlie although he was doing his best to stay calm.

"Okay." Charlie was bewildered by the whole situation he was caught up in and decided silence was probably the best course of action.

John wheeled him to the bathroom. It had a bathtub and toilet to the left and an unusually low sink on the right. John set the chair's brakes next to the sink. "Give me your hand." If Charlie hadn't seen the duck tape in John's hands he would've thought nothing of his request. Slightly apprehensive, Charlie did as he was told. John secured both his arms to the armrests, leaving Charlie helpless.

"I'll be right back."

Charlie looked around frantically, trying to find anything he could use to get free. He couldn't find anything from his spot next to the sink, and he doubted he would.

"Here we go," John said happily as he entered the bathroom again, holding a razor. "Lean your head back."

Charlie let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling, doing his best not to look at John.

John brushed his hands over Charlie's face, moving some unruly curls out of the way, and then lathered shaving cream on it.

Charlie thought it felt odd, to say the least, to be shaved by another man who took special care in every movement. Almost as if he was shaving his brother. He closed his eyes, trying to hold back tears as the razor touched his skin. He didn't like John holding a sharp object this close to him, and was definitely not enjoying the experience.

"Lean some more," John said, putting his hand on Charlie's forehead to push his head back as much as he needed, exposing Charlie's neck to the cold blade. "Now, don't move."

Charlie held his breath as he felt the sharp razor against his lower jaw and only let the air out as a heavy sigh when he was finally done.

"What do you think?"

Charlie looked at the mirror over the sink, pretending he was examining John's handiwork. Instead, he was examining himself. He had not seen his reflection in over two days. His cheek and eye were still blue and swollen and there were other cuts on his face he hadn't noticed before. His skin was pale and his eyes were drawn. He only hoped that his family, whom he knew had seen him bruised and wounded on the video tape, would know it was nothing serious.

"It's nice."

"Maybe we'll give you a haircut tomorrow." John mused.

Charlie tore his eyes from the sad image in the mirror and looked directly at John, "Let's not. I like my hair this way." He didn't want anything else to change. He wanted to recognize the man looking back at him in the mirror.

John smiled. "Okay." Charlie decided he didn't care for that smile. "I'll put everything away, hang on." John left the bathroom again only to return without the blade. He took out a small pocket knife and cut Charlie's hands free.

"There are clean clothes in the closet and soap and everything in the cabinet. I'll let you get cleaned up." With those words, John left the room, locking the padlock after him.

Charlie wheeled himself into the main room with some difficulty, being still too weak to move around much. He looked around the room and tested the door, but couldn't find any weak spots to his prison. Eventually, Charlie gave up the search. He really did need a bath and he hoped it would help clear his mind.

Now he just had to figure out how he was going to accomplish that feat.

Taking his shirt off was the easy part. He then unbuckled his jeans and looked around the room for something to hold on to. There was a handrail installed next to the bathtub which he leaned on as he tried to take the rest of his clothes off. Whatever strength he had left in his arms and legs eventually did the trick and he was soon sitting in the bathtub, enjoying the warm water against his skin. He washed his hair and face, and leaned back in the soothing heat. He could feel his body relax and his mind coming back to itself. His brilliant mind finally began work properly, so he just laid back and let it do its thing.

11101

"I have some bad news," Colby entered Don's cubicle.

"What," Don was almost afraid to ask and Colby definitely didn't want to answer.

"Mark Rigby, the lawyer, died in a car accident two weeks ago." Don closed his eyes tightly. "We don't have a witness anymore." Colby finished.

"God," Don looked up at Colby, "We really_ don't_ have any leads."

"Did Amita come up with anything?" Colby tried to sound hopeful but he could already see the answer to his question in his boss' eyes.

"She got too many answers and doesn't know any way to narrow the field." Don rubbed his eyes for a second and then thought better of it. "Any ideas?"

Colby shook his head sadly.

11110

Charlie took another look at himself in the mirror. He had put on a pair of sweats, but had yet to put on a shirt. His shoulder was slightly swollen and blue and his neck seemed to have taken on an odd shade of purple. Charlie looked at his red ankles, and cut wrists. Although he hadn't lost much blood through the slices, the area was discolored and seemed like it might benefit from a few stitches. He was pretty sure there would be scars. Most of his body was still throbbing, but all in all, he felt better.

He had no idea what time it was. He assumed it was pretty late but had no way to be sure. Just as he took a fresh shirt from the shelf, Charlie heard the lock being opened.

"Hi," John said as he poked his head into the bathroom.

"Hi," Charlie felt a shiver run down his spine and quickly pulled the long sleeved sweatshirt on.

"I heard you turning the shower off. Want to watch some TV?"

"Sure, whatever." It didn't really matter what they did, but Charlie wanted to be out of 'his' room, and he wanted another chance to look around the first floor of the house.

"Let me help you with that," John said as he saw Charlie take some socks from the closet. Charlie knew it would be a struggle to put them on while feeling as weak as he did and handed them over. He would have to pick his battles and let his strength build with time. He would need it all to be able to escape.

John knelt in front of Charlie and started working on the socks.

"I think you'll be able to walk again really soon. It's gonna be uncomfortable for a while but you'll get used to it." John's hands were cold against Charlie's feet.

"What will?"

"I have to make sure you won't run away when I'm at work. I really don't want to hurt you, Charlie," for a split second John looked up at Charlie, who was doing his best to concentrate on the socks. "I don't want to tie you to the bed because I want you to be able to drink and go to the bathroom during the day. So I'll put you on a leash - for a lack of a better word - and that way you'll be able to move around."

Charlie's head shot up to look at John at the mention of a leash. "What?"

John didn't miss the panicky undertone in Charlie's voice. "You won't be able to leave the house but you'll be able to move around. It's the best thing for you."

_'The best thing is going home,' _Charlie thought to himself.

"I'll tell you what. I'll get you two of them so you'll have much more freedom when I'm home." John was done with the socks and stood up. "It doesn't look like you'll really need it today, but I'll let you get used to it anyway." John left the room and came back with a metal chain which he attached to the bathroom wall on one end and had a thick bracelet on the other.

"It's not heavy, but it's strong." John knelt in front of Charlie again and pulled the sock on his right ankle as high as he could so the metal wouldn't have contact with Charlie's bare skin. "This is a long chain so you'll be able to go to the kitchen and living room." John closed the bracelet around the ankle tightly, causing Charlie to wince as it put pressure on an already tender area.

"Sorry," John said absentmindedly as he locked the bracelet into its position. "I can't really take the chair up the stairs with this chain and all. It's too complicated." He reached to pick Charlie up again and cradled the smaller form against him. Charlie felt extremely uncomfortable to be carried around by this man. The lack of control over his own movements left him feeling helpless and he suspected that this was exactly what John liked about the situation.

"So what are we watching?" Charlie started speaking as they went up the stairs, trying to sound as casual as he could. He could feel a battle plan forming in his head. He would figure out where the keys were or if they weren't within his reach, he would find a way to break the chain and would run away, no matter what he would have to do to his captor. He'd have to get stronger, though, and that would take patience.

"We'll see what's on." John walked into the living room and Charlie could hear the chain dragging behind him on the stairs. He didn't think he would ever get used to it. "There's a baseball game on."

"There is?" Charlie wasn't as surprised there was a game on as he was surprised that John would offer to watch it. Even though Charlie fell in love with the game while watching Don play, baseball had always been Don's thing.

"Sure, you like baseball, right?" John laid Charlie down on the couch.

"Yeah, sure." Charlie tried not to sound too enthusiastic, expecting it to be a trick question.

"Great," John said as he sat on the sofa and turned the TV on. Charlie relaxed into the couch, half watching the game, half imagining Don and his father watching it at home.

He fell asleep without even noticing.

11111


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N - Thank you so much for all your kind feedback. I'm leaving on a trip in a few days so I'll post what I can when I can. I hope you keep enjoying yourselves.**

**_ The mind is its own place, and in itself can make heaven of Hell, a hell of Heaven _**

11111

_"Hi Charlie, what's up?" Don entered the garage, where Charlie was working on his boards._

_"Just working on a problem for Larry. What's new?" Charlie stopped working and looked at his brother._

_"Not much, I came by to watch the game tonight. Are you going to join us?" it was a long time tradition for father and sons to watch the game together when they could._

_"I'll come when I'm done. Shouldn't take long." Charlie smiled at his brother._

_"Be careful, Charlie," Don grew serious. "John's not stable and he's dangerous."_

_"I know, Donnie, but what should I do?"_

_"Hurry."_

_"What?" Charlie looked at his brother, confused._

_"Wake up!" Don yelled._

Charlie sat up on the couch, startled. The game was still on, but John wasn't sitting on the couch anymore. It took Charlie a second to realize that John was standing over him, looking very angry.

"John?" Charlie tried to get a reaction from his jailor.

He never got an answer. Instead, John grabbed the chain and pulled Charlie off the couch. Charlie landed on the floor with a loud thud. He was trying to get his bearings when he felt John drag him across the room.

John let go of the chain as he reached the steps to the basement and grabbed Charlie by the collar, hauling him to his feet.

"Why are you doing this?" Charlie pleaded as he looked into John's crazed eyes.

Without a word, John threw Charlie down the stairs.

Charlie found the floor coming at him at an accelerating speed, and he did his best to brace for the impact.

He hit the concrete with his shoulder, sending pain all through his arm. His legs got tangled in the chain and hit the door frame at the bottom of the stairs, refusing Charlie's orders to move out of the way as John came towards him, and Charlie was left lying awkwardly at the bottom.

John grabbed the chain again, untangling Charlie, and dragged him closer to the bed. Charlie did his best not to yelp in pain as his injured ankle was pulled in this manner. John spoke for the first time when they were next to the bed, his rage somewhat tempered. "I told you not to do that. I warned you. He doesn't exist." John reached for another chain, which he attached to the same place at the bathroom wall. It was the smaller one he had told Charlie about – the one too short to allow his prisoner to leave the room.

"I don't understand." Charlie backed up into the wall when John came towards him. This time the chain didn't have an ankle bracelet.

"This way, you'll learn your lesson."

Charlie would have to wait for John's temper to subside before he would get some answers. He closed his eyes as John approached him with a metal collar.

"Please, don't." His neck was still bruised and sore from his time in the chair.

"It's the only way you'll learn." John put the collar around Charlie's neck, setting it much lower than where the chair had held him.

"What lesson?" There was no getting through to John who was completely set on his task. Charlie felt his hair being pulled away as the collar was clasped around the back of his neck, and tightened until it was locked into place. It wasn't a heavy burden, but it was uncomfortably tight, and gave him a terrible feeling of being dominated.

His task completed, John left the room locking the door behind him. Charlie stayed in his position on the floor, taking mental stock of his injuries. His shoulder and legs hurt terribly, but he knew nothing was broken and that he was lucky for it.

Charlie felt miserable. He didn't know how to process the events of the past few days, and wasn't sure he'd ever know how to deal with them. He wanted to see his father laugh as his brother teased him about something. He wanted to teach math and contemplate the mysteries of the world with Larry and Amita. He wanted everything but what he had. Charlie knew how his mind worked and he rarely feared it as he did now. He tended to panic and shut down when confronted with dangerous situations and this definitely qualified as one. He kept telling himself to go on, function, do what he had to do to exist and analyze the situation the best he could. He kept telling himself he was okay, he just had to survive, and Don would walk through those doors at any minute and when he did, Charlie would be able to break down and let his brother take care of him. He tugged unconsciously at the collar as the thought of his brother once again passed through his mind.

Charlie eventually dragged himself into the bathroom and climbed back into the wheelchair, still standing in front of the sink.

He starred at his image with the collar on. It reminded him of a dog on a leash, as he was sure it was meant to feel.

"Damn," he murmured to himself. "I'm never getting out of here."

He looked around the room and found everything he needed to turn in for the night. He performed the routine task, half expecting John to walk through the door and hurt him some more.

Charlie wheeled himself into the bedroom, and tried going all the way to the door in order to test the length of his new restraints. He wasn't surprised to find that he couldn't get within touching distance. He steered the chair back to the bed and set the brakes. The fall left him with aches and pains all over his body and he craved sleep desperately.

He climbed into bed and covered himself with the light blanket. Sleep came fast and he wished it would be a long one.

100000

Don and Alan sat together for a quiet dinner. Neither one of them felt like talking, or cooking for that matter, and they had ordered Chinese.

"You look tired," Alan eventually commented to his son.

"I've been having trouble sleeping," Don confessed.

"I've been dreaming about him too." Don looked up at his father, seeing that he looked just as tired. "You can stay here tonight." Alan suggested.

Don smiled half-heartedly. "I think that would be a good idea." He understood why his father had a hard time staying in the house alone, and he knew he'd feel closer to Charlie if her stayed.

Don took another bite. The rest of the meal passed quietly.

100001

October 31st

Charlie was thirsty. He woke up feeling like he had slept for ages, but had no idea how long he'd been out. Sitting up in bed very slowly, his body protested the abuse it had gotten from John the night before. Charlie put his feet on the cold floor, tugging unconsciously at his collar. He decided to test his strength and stand up, a task he approached with caution.

He smiled in relief when he saw his legs were holding him up, albeit shakily. His left leg throbbed from the encounter with the doorframe and wobbled quite a bit under him. He didn't think it was prudent to try and walk, considering the pain and weakness in his legs. He would need to save his strength. He set himself down in the chair, maneuvering his leash to his side, and started towards the bathroom.

The water felt great going down his throat and he washed his face, careful over the bruises.

He just sat there for a while, staring at the pale image in the mirror, before cleaning up and going back into the bedroom.

He decided to explore the closet and beside clothes he also found notebooks and pencils for him to occupy his time. Charlie found himself wondering just how much John knew about him.

Charlie lifted his pants cuff to examine his wounded leg. The bruising from the impact and the chain were dark blue and hard to miss. His left ankle was also swollen, indicating some kind of injury. He figured it somehow twisted when it got caught on the chain and was sprained. He knew it would get better if he stayed off of it for a few days.

He sat up in his bed with his back against the wall, his legs folded in front of him so he could lean the notebook on his knees. Charlie knew he needed to make sure his work wouldn't be understandable to John, but would make sense to him. That was never much of a problem in his line of work. He needed his math to keep him level headed and he decided to use it to analyze John's behavior and varying environmental elements. He could calculate the best time to make a break for it and the best way to do so. This kind of statistical analysis would take time, and that was the one thing Charlie had.

He just wished Don would get there before he would have to do something drastic.

100010

Alan stared at a picture of his sons climbing a tree when they were kids. He figured they must have been about eleven and six, and back then Charlie did whatever his big brother told him to do, eventually needing his father to help a panicked Charlie get down from that tree. The picture was taken while they were still climbing, and they both looked ecstatic. Life was so simple back then. Both his boys were yet to discover the difficulty of being a teenager and harsh sibling rivalry. They weren't yet fully aware of where Charlie's unique mind would take them all and they could just enjoy being kids.

His eyes rested on his oldest son, climbing to the highest branch on the tree, smiling like he just reached the top of Mount Everest. He seemed so worn out these last few days. Usually, when Don was working on a case he was energetic, but the lack of sleep and the fear and worry he had for his brother were taking a terrible toll on him. Whenever Alan saw him now, Don seemed depressed and almost lethargic. Alan worried that it was too much for him to handle despite his strength.

He shifted his gaze to his youngest and sighed heavily. It seemed that every time he walked into a room he expected to find Charlie concentrating on his math. Alan thought that Charlie's unwavering energy should linger in the house, fill every corner with him the way the house still felt full of Margaret, but he couldn't feel Charlie anywhere. The house felt cold; empty. It was where his baby boy got hurt, where someone took a picture of him bleeding on the floor. No, Alan couldn't feel Charlie, but it seemed that John was screaming at him from every corner.

Alan put the photo down and walked to the door, taking his jacket and keys along the way. He needed to get out of the house, quickly.

100011

Don sat uncomfortably in Walt Merrick's office waiting for his boss to get off the phone. Merrick wasn't a man known for his sympathetic streak but when he had called Don to his office, he seamed to be just that - sympathetic.

Hanging up the phone, Merrick said, "First, let me say I'm sorry for what's happening to your brother. Besides the fact that he's an agent's brother, he's helped us and been one of us for a while now."

"Thank you." Don didn't expect the gentleness in Agent Merrick's voice. It was an unusual reaction from the supervising agent. An unusual response to an unusual situation.

"I called you here for a couple of reasons," he continued. "Of course nothing we say leaves this office."

Don nodded, trying to prepare himself for what his boss was about to say.

"Dr. Eppes has been a great resource for the government, much greater than any of us knew. Apparently, he assisted the FBI on some very big RICO cases in the past against some very big names. It seems that he also consulted for the NSA, DEA, NASA and the CIA." Don's jaw almost dropped as Merrick listed the agencies his brother had worked for in the past. He had no idea how great Charlie's involvement was beside his work with Don and his team. To Don's surprise, his little brother had kept a few secrets from him.

"No one's admitted their work with Dr. Eppes," AD Merrick continued. "And I don't know what he helped them with. I just know I've been getting some very concerned phone calls from very important people, both asking about the case and if there's anything they can do." He paused briefly.

"Someone from the NSA will stop by to talk to you and many people have offered to help if needed, both out of gratitude and because Dr. Eppes has been exposed to sensitive information. You'll have a lot of resources on this one, but it comes with a lot of pressure. I know you don't need it, that's why I'm telling you what's happening. A lot of people would like to step in on this one. I'll try to keep most of it away from you, but you'll feel it anyway. Some of them will use any excuse to get you off the case, and the fact that he's your brother isn't helping them trust you to use good judgment."

Don didn't know what to say. It never occurred to him that his brother's involvement with various agencies was this extensive.

"The second thing I want to talk to you about is a little more personal." Merrick hesitated. "I want you to go and see the department psychiatrist." Don was half standing when Merrick put his hand up to silence his objections. "I know what you're going to say. I think it's a good idea. You're obviously not sleeping well, and you're having some problems dealing with the situation. Anybody would, but like I said, this is a high profile case. I can't have an unstable agent running it, even if he _is_ the victim's brother.

"_Especially_ if he's the victim's brother."

Don nodded, surrendering. Hearing his brother referred to as 'the victim' took the fight right out of him. He could never let anyone else run this case.

"Let your team take over if the situation warrants it. Run this by the book, and I'll make sure you have whatever you need. Agreed?"

Don leaned in slightly. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"I know." He sighed. "I wish I could give you better news. Both the CIA and the NSA want to handle this case. People who've worked with Dr. Eppes feel like he's one of their own, and the fact that you're his brother isn't making any difference."

Don nodded, looking Merrick in the eyes. He understood exactly what the other man was trying not to say. Some very powerful people were trying to take over the investigation, and the only reason that it was still his case was that the crime was under FBI jurisdiction. They would fight for the case eventually, but for now they were manpower he could use.

"Why is the NSA coming to see us?" Don asked, curiously.

"Let me know when you find out." Both agents smiled. Don appreciated the warning his boss had given him. He just hoped he would be able to find his brother before anyone got in his way. He hated to think of what he would do to the man who tried to take this case away from him.

100100

Alan closed his eyes, feeling the cool breeze over his face. The place was peaceful - green grass as far as the eye could see with trees and flowers adding to the scenery. It was surreal that a place this alive was a home to so much sadness.

He opened his eyes and looked at the chiseled marble at his feet.

_Margaret Mann Eppes,_

_Beloved wife and mother,_

_1946-2004_

"Hello Margaret," Alan whispered to the wind. "I brought you some flowers." He knelt down and laid the bouquet of lilacs on the soft grass.

"I guess you already know what's happening. I hope you don't mind me telling it to you anyway. You were always a good listener." He smiled, remembering sweet nights spent in conversations.

"This is the fourth morning he's woken up God knows where. I worry. I know what you're thinking." Alan smiled through the tears that threatened to fall. "I _always_ worry. And our boys always made sure I'd have enough to worry about. But this feels bad. It feels... he's hurting. I can feel it. He sounded so scared." Alan was openly crying now. "Our wonderful baby boy was so weak and frightened."

"What do I do? How do I get him back?" he pleaded to the breeze. "How do I live without him? How do I keep Don from leaving _with_ him? You know him - he'd never be able to live with the idea of Charlie being... tortured." Alan found it difficult to even say that word.

He let his hand hover over the grass. "Watch over them, okay? You keep our boys safe." Alan paused, waiting for a response that would never come. He bowed his head in surrender, and let his tears fall.

100101


	8. Chapter 8

_** Do you ever wish you could freeze frame a moment to your day and then look at it and say 'This is not my life.' **_

100101

Charlie worked for several hours before he paused. The house was quiet, and more importantly, everything _felt_ quiet. Empty. John had mentioned that Charlie would be on the shorter leash while he was out of the house, and Charlie figured that's exactly what had happened.

He tapped his fingers nervously on the notebook in his lap. Finally having some time to himself without drugs in his system or John looming around, his mind was catching up on the situation and he didn't like where it was going. He knew what his mind was capable of. He knew he could sink into P vs. NP and never come out. That was one solution. John would probably hit him a few times and then just shoot him and get it over with. Charlie didn't want to die, but right now, life scared the hell out of him.

He hoped he could walk the fine line between reality and oblivion. He hoped he could distract himself with math; that he would be able to live with John's rules. It seemed to him that all John wanted was for him not to do anything. He figured he should be able to do that somehow, especially since John seemed to accept his math, meaning Charlie would always be able to retreat into his numbers.

He had fought this demon when his mother got sick. Conquered it after Don was shot. He wished he was surer he could beat it now.

Charlie sighed heavily, unconsciously tugging on his collar and staring at the numbers. They were his only comfort. The numbers told him there was a chance. Some method, some luck that would get him home. As long as Charlie's numbers told him there was a way, he would not give up.

He got back to work, ignoring the hunger building in him, more determined than ever to find an answer to this problem.

100110

"Agent Eppes?" A tall, well dressed man in his mid-thirties approached Don's desk.

Don rose from his chair to stand face to face with the new arrival. "Yes."

"My name is Jason Marks, I'm from the NSA," the man introduced himself, holding his hand out "You were told I'll be coming?"

"Nice to meet you, Agent Marks." Don took the outstretched hand and shook it. "What can I do for you?"

"Is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

Don led Agent Marks to the conference room, shutting the door behind them. The NSA agent stood staring at Charlie's picture on the wall.

"He hasn't changed a bit," Jason Marks whispered to himself, but Don heard it.

"He doesn't change much as he ages," Don commented fondly. "So you know him?"

"We met a few years ago," Jason said. Smiling, he turned around to face Don. "Good guy. Spoke highly of you."

"Me?"

"We had to ask him all kinds of questions when he got his security clearance and I asked him some things about you. I thought you were in New Mexico."

Jason was making small talk and Don knew it. "I moved back to LA a couple of years ago." Don let a small smile cross his lips. "But you already knew that."

Both men smiled, feeling a little more comfortable.

"The agency is worried about the information Dr. Eppes has had access to and would like to stay apprised of the situation." Don knew Jason was giving him the party line. Jason seemed to reconsider his approach.

"Look," he said. "Charlie really helped me out a few years ago. I promised myself that if I ever get the chance to return the favor, I would." Jason leaned back on a desk, staring at Don a few feet away. "I just want to help any way I can, and the NSA would like to know what's happening with the case. We're not here to get in the way." Jason seemed honest about his concern, and Don found himself relaxing.

"Thank you." Don finally sat down. "To tell you the truth, I'll take all the help I can get. We don't have many leads," he admitted with some difficulty.

"How about telling me what you have? It might help to get a new perspective." Jason sat across the table from Don.

"Okay." Don let out a breath slowly. "It looks like someone abducted Charlie on the 27th, some time in the early evening. The back door to the house was broken off its hinges." Don began. "When my father couldn't find him the next morning, he called us here and talked with Agent Reeves. We received an e-mail that same morning with a picture of Charlie and a number that doesn't seem to make sense to anyone."

"A number?" Jason smiled. "Charlie's kidnapper's into numbers?"

"I know." Don returned the smile. "I don't think it's a coincidence."

"No kidding."

Don continued telling Jason about the phone call, the video tape, and everything else he could think of. It felt good to finally tell someone else about the situation, and he hoped Agent Marks would be able to help.

Finishing the story, Don stared at Jason, waiting for him to speak.

"I can't say I have ideas you haven't already thought about." Jason seemed to be mulling over something in his head. "I'm in town. If there's _anything_ you need, please give me a call." He took a business card out of his inside pocket and laid it on the table.

Don stared at it for a second before he picked it up, wondering what Charlie had done for this man to offer his service in such a way.

"I really have to go now and debrief my boss on this." Jason got up from his seat and shook Don's hand again. "It's been a pleasure, Agent Eppes." He turned around and faced Charlie's picture once more. He let a small smile cross his lips and whispered something that Don couldn't hear, presumably to Charlie.

Don watched Agent Marks leave the bullpen and rubbed his forehead. It felt good to talk about what had happened, and for the first time Don thought that therapy might not be such a bad idea.

100111

Charlie heard a car pull into the driveway and knew John was back. He had made some progress with his work, and the first conclusion he had reached was that he had to give it time, get John to trust him and give him more freedom. In the mean time, he decided to look for a weaker link in his chain. The mathematician closed his notebook and put it aside; settling on looking at the door, imagining what was behind it. He let the images come for a few moments, and then closed his eyes, wishing for them to go away. Moving slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor, all the while watching the same spot on the door. He wasn't surprised when he heard it unlock and saw it open.

"Hi, Charlie." John was smiling. "How was your day?"

"My day?" Charlie contemplated John's statement. '_Could it really have been a day?_' "Umm… fine. Yours?"

"It was good. I'm sorry about yesterday," John started, walking into the room and standing in front of Charlie. "I didn't mean to leave both chains on you. There's no point in that." John kneeled to look at Charlie from the same height. "I hope you learned your lesson."

Charlie nodded. He had no idea what the lesson was, and didn't think he should ask.

"Good. Are you hungry? I can make some dinner." John sat on the bed next to Charlie.

"Yeah, I _am_ hungry, actually." Charlie was surprised to find that he wanted to eat. He had completely forgotten about food.

John smiled broadly. "You can take a shower while I make us something."

Stretching his arms and back, Charlie replied, "I can't with these chains on."

"I know. I'll let you out of them, but I'll lock the door. I'm carrying a gun; I wouldn't try anything, if I were you." John warned, as if Charlie would try and make a break for it when he couldn't even make it up the stairs.

Charlie nodded again.

"Good." John grinned. "Don't move for a second," he said, reaching for the collar.

Charlie held his breath as he felt the cold hands at his neck. He closed his eyes, trying to bury the uneasy feeling he had whenever John touched him.

Charlie felt the weight lifting from his neck and breathed out a sigh of relief.

"There you go," John announced cheerfully. "I left the other key upstairs, I'll be right back. You can go to the bathroom in the meantime."

Charlie smiled gratefully and reached for the wheelchair. Seeing this, John walked back and brought the chair over to Charlie. "Let me help," John said tenderly and reached for Charlie. He put his arms behind Charlie's back, and pulled most of his weight into an upright position, then he lowered the young man back into the chair. Charlie didn't try to use any of his pain-filled limbs to help with the movement. He came to the conclusion that he really didn't like being carried.

"I thought you'd be able to walk by now."

"I hurt my leg last night when I fell down the stairs." Charlie did his best not to sound accusing.

"Where does it hurt?" John asked, concerned.

"Left leg." Charlie looked rather stunned at his captor, who gently lifted Charlie's pants cuff to look at his injury. "It's nothing."

John lifted Charlie's leg and moved his foot around to test it. "Let me know when this hurts."

"Now," Charlie said almost immediately, alarmed.

John shook his head. "It's not broken, but I don't like its color."

"I know. It's nothing." Charlie's ankle had taken on an ugly shade of purple and was swollen. He knew it wasn't good but had no way to determine how bad it really was.

"It's not nothing, Charlie. If you're in pain, you should say something," John berated his prisoner.

"It's just a sprain or something." Charlie wanted John away from his sore limb.

"Yeah. I'll get you an ice pack and something for the pain." John got up and started towards the door.

"The ice pack would be great, but John." Charlie waited for John to turn back and look at him. "It really doesn't hurt that bad. I didn't even notice it all day. I don't need to take anything." Charlie hesitated to resist John, but he really didn't want any drugs in his system.

"Okay." John smiled. "I'll be back in a second."

He left the room, and Charlie wheeled himself into the bathroom, finding it much easier to move without the collar.

John returned holding duct tape. Charlie, who knew exactly what John had in mind, put his hands on the armrests. He just wanted John to get it over with. He had hated the shaving process yesterday and he wasn't enjoying it today. Charlie leaned his head back and closed his eyes. The blade felt foreign and cold and it lasted forever.

"Thank you," Charlie stammered once John was done. He starred at John's image in the mirror.

"You're welcome." John smiled broadly. He turned Charlie's chair away from the sink, and kneeled down in front of him. "I got the keys," he said happily, and got the ankle bracelet off.

Charlie tried to smile in response. He didn't think he was pulling it off. His only restraint was the duct tape. John pulled out a gun he had in his belt. "Don't get any ideas, buddy. I don't want to hurt you."

Charlie nodded once.

"Good."

John pulled a pocket knife and cut the duct tape in one swift motion.

The feeling of not being tied or chained to anything would have been almost exhilarating if it hadn't been for the gun pointed at Charlie's face.

He heard the door lock as John left him alone and he breathed a sigh of relief. He stretched his muscles, feeling much better without the weight of the metal chains, and slowly took his clothes off. The whole day had passed without him noticing it. He hadn't even realized he hadn't eaten in about 24 hours. It didn't feel real.

He enjoyed the feeling of warm water over his skin, and he felt the chill that had engulfed him all day fade away.

Even though he knew he'd be tied again the moment he got out of the bath, he didn't allow himself to indulge in a long soak. He just didn't know how John would react to things.

Charlie turned the water off and clumsily climbed onto the chair on one leg. He managed to put some pants on before John walked into the room again.

John leaned on the doorframe, holding Charlie's shirt and socks. "Before you get dressed, there's something I need to do," John said apologetically.

"What?" There was obvious fear in Charlie's voice, since he'd discovered he didn't like John's surprises.

"Lean forward and put your head on your knees." The look on Charlie's face was quizzical, and it didn't get better when he saw John was holding a knife. "It won't be deep; I just need some blood, like before."

Charlie looked at his cut forearm for a split second with increasing trepidation and then leaned forward in his wheelchair. While he was waiting for the torture to begin, he wondered when exactly it had become his wheelchair.

John was telling the truth about not cutting too deep, but the back, and especially the spine region, didn't need the cut to be too deep to bleed or scar.

Charlie tried not to move as the knife cut into him. He allowed the tears to fall onto his legs and floor. He knew it wasn't the pain that was causing the tears, he could handle that. What was causing him to tear up was the helplessness of the situation. The life he'd had only five days ago seemed so alien now, and in some odd way, his previous existence felt completely irrelevant. Maybe life without pain, free of chains and duct tape, was only an illusion.

He felt some burning in his back and knew John was cleaning the cut and then covering it with gauze.

"All done," John announced.

Charlie sat up stiffly, trying not to test his new injury. He looked at the mirror and saw John standing behind him, smiling. Seeing the tears on Charlie's face, John's smile disappeared and his voice took on a tender tone. "I'm sorry, buddy."

"Why?" Charlie turned around to look directly at John. "Why take blood?" he knew he would hate the answer, but he didn't care.

"I need to send him a note."

Charlie knew exactly who 'he' was - Don.

"This way, with the DNA, he knows it's from me, and that you're alive."

Charlie didn't blink. The note was sadistic, and he knew his brother would be tortured by it. He swallowed hard.

"Get dressed." John handed Charlie the shirt cheerfully. "I'll help you with the socks."

Charlie put the shirt on as fast as his aching shoulder allowed him to. John repeated yesterday's ritual of putting Charlie' socks on and then closing the ankle bracelet on his right leg.

"You shouldn't walk on that," John said, staring at Charlie's left leg.

"I haven't."

"Let me take you." Charlie looked at John, perplexed. "I enjoy helping you." John held Charlie's face affectionately. "Let me."

Charlie nodded, biting his lip. He preferred to limp around, but he knew John would prefer to carry him, and it would probably be better for his leg.

John lifted him easily. The young mathematician put his arms around his captor's neck out of reflex, unknowingly pleasing John. "Hold on." John smiled and walked up the stairs.

"I hope you like Italian food."

"Yeah, sure," Charlie answered absentmindedly. The darkness outside the windows in the living room reminded him once again that another day had passed.

John put Charlie down on a chair next to the kitchen table, which was set for two. He dragged another chair to Charlie's left. "Put your leg up here." John set Charlie's left leg on the chair and then got the young man an ice pack. "This should help." Charlie flinched at the contact with the cold material, but eventually relaxed his muscles. "Thank you."

"May I ask you something?" Charlie asked as John served.

"Sure." John was beaming. "Let me know what you think."

"What happened last night?" Charlie took a bite from his food.

"You said his name while we were watching the game. I told you not to do that." There was no need to say who he was.

"I did?" Charlie was genuinely surprised. To his knowledge, he never talked in his sleep. He figured his new situation may have affected him.

"It's okay." John smiled kindly. "I understand, and I'm sorry I lost my temper. Just don't do it again." Charlie really didn't like that smile.

Charlie nodded, knowing full well that he couldn't promise not to talk in his sleep.

"May I ask you something else?" Charlie bit his lip, nervous.

"How's the food?"

"Umm… fine," Charlie stammered. He really wasn't paying much attention to what he was eating.

"What's your question?"

John was obviously in a good mood and Charlie was taking advantage of it. "Where were you all day?"

"Work."

Charlie starred at John. Somehow he didn't imagine John as a nine-to-five kind of a guy. "What do you do?"

"I'm an electrical engineer."

"Can I ask where we are?" Charlie hesitated. "We're not in L.A."

"I guess it's okay to tell you." John leaned forward as if he was whispering a secret. "San Francisco."

"Really?" Charlie was genuinely surprised.

John laughed. "You'll like it here."

Charlie smiled in relief and kept eating, trying not to push his luck with any more questions.

"It's okay to ask questions, buddy," John said with affection. "I'll just let you know if I don't want to answer."

Charlie hesitated until John finally spoke. "Just ask, I won't get mad."

"Your brother." Charlie whispered. He knew that whatever was happening to him had a lot to do with what had happened to John's brother.

"Brandon. He was a good boy." John drifted to his memories. "But he got mixed up with the wrong crowd and I couldn't seem to get him away from it. Eventually, they got into some trouble and the Feds came after Brandon. He sent him to jail even though he knew it was the others. I told him Brandon wouldn't survive prison, but he insisted. They started beating him up the first week he was there.

"Eventually, they beat him to death. He didn't belong there." John looked like he was about the cry.

Charlie was shocked by the story and just couldn't find the right words to say.

They finished their meal in silence.

101000


	9. Chapter 9

**_A/N - Thank you for some amazing feedback (I'm justsorry I can't thank you personally since I don't have much time). I'm on a trip so I have problems typing things up. I have a few chapters on the site and I'm posting them as I go along. I'm also staying in touch with my beta since I'm writing as I go along. Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging._**

**_Most importantly - thank you. I arrived in a new town tonight, went into my mail and saw your amazing reviews and PM. It just made me feel like writing - which is what I'm doing right now. Please keep them coming - you made my day._**

**_ Hold everything in your hands lightly - otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open_**

101000

Don and Colby stood in the FBI kitchen making themselves coffee. Colby watched Don's automatic movements, not knowing what to say. When Don paused, starring at his cup, Colby knew he had to say something.

"Maybe you should go home. Your dad probably needs to see you."

"I know, but he also needs me to find Charlie."

"How's he doing?" Colby sat down in one of the kitchen chairs.

"I don't think he knows how to handle it." Don looked at Colby briefly and then returned his gaze to his coffee. "Especially with Charlie."

"What do you mean?"

Don smiled sadly. "Charlie was never easy for him as a father. He wasn't exactly an average child." Don looked at Colby again. "He didn't really know how to teach him things and, considering that Charlie left for school when he was young, Dad didn't spend much time with him and didn't really get to know him as a kid. I think Dad really regrets that."

"How smart _is_ Charlie, anyway?" Colby asked, surprised at himself.

Don laughed. "You mean you can't tell?"

Colby returned the smile. "I mean, how much of what he does is his education as a mathematician and how much is just the way he is?"

Don considered the question for a moment. He realized how someone who saw Charlie next to Larry or Amita and didn't understand their work wouldn't see the difference.

"You know, I think no-one really knows the answer to that," Don replied, realizing something for the first time. "He learned to hide it from people at a very young age."

"Hide it?"

"Don't get me wrong - he always studied at a higher level than his age, but that was school. He played it down in front of people." Don paused to try and retrieve some forgotten memories. "To this day, he has never told me what his IQ is, and I know he took the test, several times." Don sipped his coffee. "He didn't like the way people looked at him. They made him feel…" Don searched for the right word. "Not normal."

"That can be harsh for a kid."

"I didn't help matters, either," Don admitted, remembering several comments he had heard from Charlie regarding their childhood.

"You were a child."

"Yeah." Don half smiled. He knew he couldn't always use that as an excuse for mistreating his brother. Some of what he had done was just plain wrong. But Colby was right - they had been kids and they were beyond those problems now. "To answer your question, when I was in third grade, my parents had to watch me do my math homework because I often let my three year old brother do it for me."

Colby laughed at the image this story conjured up.

"Technically, he's still doing my homework." Don laughed with Colby. Calming down, he added sadly. "I just can't believe it's been four days."

"Go home." Colby's tone changed as well. "Spend some time with your father. We'll keep working here."

"Maybe you're right."

"Go." Colby took the cup from Don's hands. "Spend a couple of hours with him, get some sleep. We'll see you tomorrow."

Don sighed. He knew his friend was right. While he found himself concentrating on his work to find Charlie, he knew his father was probably going nuts alone at the house.

"Okay."

101001

"Let's see what's on TV," John said, clearing the dishes after dinner. When Charlie didn't answer, John turned away from the dishes in the sink and looked at him. "You don't feel like watching TV?"

"I don't watch much TV." Charlie wanted to avoid a repeat of the previous night.

"I can bring your notebook up here," John suggested. "Sit with me while you work." John was already half way out of the kitchen when he finished the sentence, and Charlie didn't bother answering. He didn't have much more to work on regarding his calculations without further observation of the situation with John, but he could always find something to keep his mind busy.

"Here." John handed Charlie the notebook and a pen. "Hold this."

Charlie held his things loosely in his lap, and John picked him up and carried him to the living room couch. The mathematician winced when John's hand slid over his back and touched his new cut. John took the same seat he had taken the night before, and turned the TV on. Charlie tuned the noise out as he allowed himself to sink into his math. He was in no danger of falling asleep and saying things he shouldn't say when he was working. He hadn't even noticed John was watching the news until something that the news anchor said penetrated his consciousness.

"…Professor Charles Eppes has been missing for the last four days." Charlie's eyes snapped up to the TV screen, where he saw a picture of himself, taken on happier days. "Anyone who has seen this man, please call the number at the bottom of the screen."

Charlie kept staring at the TV even after the anchorman moved on to different subjects. '_They're looking' _he thought to himself. He was so concentrated on surviving he forgot he had a group of very good FBI agents looking for him.

He was suddenly very aware that John was pacing, obviously upset. "You knew they'd be looking," Charlie whispered fearfully.

"I thought this would be far enough. Your pictures… our neighbors saw it… everyone saw it." John was rambling. "I'll find a way for us, Charlie. I promise." His breathing was becoming uneven.

"John?" Charlie was starting to fear John's irrational behavior.

"We'll have to do this carefully. I'll have to plan… wait till the right time." John's rambling became less and less coherent as he kept talking. "I have to think… figure it out. It's just a new problem… I knew it was coming." John seemed to suddenly realize that Charlie was in the room. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered to the young mathematician, and grabbed the chain a few feet away from the couch only to give it a hard pull, sending Charlie to the floor.

Charlie was trying to get up when John grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off his feet. "You shouldn't be here," John yelled in Charlie's face, and threw him on his back.

Charlie landed on the glass living room table, which broke on impact, embedding glass into his flesh. He tried to break his fall with his hands, only to have his left hand explode with sudden pain.

John grabbed Charlie's collar again, and dragged him into the basement.

Charlie went limp, and let John do whatever he was going to do, knowing that fighting would only cause him more pain and would accomplish nothing. He felt the cold floor beneath him, and then his hair being pulled away and the collar tighten around his neck. He barely noticed when the ankle bracelet came off and the menacing presence left the room, locking the door.

"Oh, God." Charlie lowered his head. He looked at his left hand. He thought he might've heard it crack, but with the table breaking underneath him, he just wasn't sure. Charlie shifted his eyes to the red stain that was spreading on his thighs. It took him a second to register that he was looking at his own blood.

His back hurt. Why did his back hurt? He wasn't sure. He was only lucid enough to know he was in shock and not much more. He laid down on his side, letting the cold concrete lull him into sleep.

101010

November 1st

"Morning, Dad," Don said as he walked down the stairs and saw his father in the living room, seemingly doing nothing.

"Good morning, Don." Alan kept staring at the same spot on the wall.

"Feel like breakfast?" Don tried to sound cheerful.

"No." Alan looked at his son. "Just coffee." He indicated the cup in his hands.

"I heard you walking around last night. Did you sleep?"

Alan shifted his gaze away again. "A little."

"Dad…" Don started, disapprovingly.

"Don't lecture me, son," Alan said softly. "I just don't know how to do this."

"This?"

"I once saw a TV show." The father's mind drifted. "And this woman who had lost her son - I don't remember the circumstances - said something I never quite understood before."

Realizing his father wasn't going to continue, Don prompted. "What?"

"How do you get used to living with a son who isn't there?" Alan looked at Don pointedly. "I don't know how to do that, Donnie. I don't know how to keep eating and working and living with him not being here."

"We just keep going so we'll be here when he comes back." Don's voice was shaking.

"I'm trying."

"I know, Dad." Don could see his father's distress and he didn't like the way it was making him feel. "Try to eat and get some sleep."

Alan looked at the wall again and nodded. "I'll try."

101011

Charlie woke up to pain. His instincts told him to get to the bathroom and clean up, but when he tried to get to all fours, his left arm painfully gave out from under him. He looked at his left wrist. It was unbelievingly swollen and discolored. He decided to try and move his fingers. It took a few painful attempts before he was sure he saw movement. He kept crawling to the bathroom on his right hand and leg. All he was thinking about was that he was cold.

Reaching the bathroom, Charlie noticed the blood stains on his pants for the first time. He awkwardly lowered his pants with one hand until they were below his knees. On his inner thighs, he found several very deep gashes where the glass cut through the tender flesh. From the look of his pants, he had lost a considerable amount of blood.

He took his shirt off, struggling to make his left hand cooperate with his efforts. Eventually it dangled from the chain attached to his neck. On the floor, where he had disturbed the fabric, he found pieces of broken glass. He used those pieces to cut his shirt off the chain, and shredded it into several strips. He wet two of the strips in the bathtub and worked on cleaning the blood from his legs. Once the cuts were clean, he took two more bits of fabric and dressed his wounds to protect them. Examining his work and finding it satisfactory, he put his pants back on. He leaned his head back into the tub and ran water over his hair, trying to wash away any glass that might be in his curly hair.

Using the bathtub and the sink, Charlie managed to stand up on his good leg and turned as much as he could to see his back in the mirror. He could feel more than see small fragments of glass embedded into his back and quickly realized he had no possibility to get them out.

He used what was left of his shirt to wrap his left wrist and hold it in place. Charlie wobbled back to the bed and let himself fall into a sitting position. He pulled the blanket up to try and warm up but it wasn't doing the job.

He lay down on his stomach. He wouldn't get any work done today.

101100

"Agent Reeves." A young woman approached the female agent. "We just got another message from John and I can't find agent Eppes."

"He's interviewing a suspect," Megan answered the woman, curious. "What did forensics say?"

"No finger prints, same blood type as before."

"Blood?" Megan feared the answer the woman would give her.

"The number '7920' was written in blood, like last time."

"Okay, give us the note, and I'll talk to Don. How was it delivered?"

"By courier. He's waiting for someone to talk to him."

Megan smiled, realizing they finally had a potential lead. "Bring him here."

101101

"Don," Megan practically ran to Don as soon as she saw him and Colby enter the bullpen. "We got another note from John."

"And?" Don stared at her impatiently.

"Another number." Megan hesitated before continuing. "Written in blood."

Don looked away for a second. Bringing his hand up to cover his mouth, he fought to compose himself.

Megan continued, "We have the courier in the investigation room."

Don smiled. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go talk to him." He added after he started walking. "And get the number to Larry and Amita."

"Already done." Megan followed him to the investigation room.

101110

"Mr. Benson," Megan said as she and Don entered the interrogation room. William Benson was tapping his fingers on the table in a very nervous manner.

"Yes, ma'am." He looked up at the two agents. "Why am I here?" he sounded terrified.

"You delivered a letter. We'd like to know who sent it." Megan sat across the table from her witness. Don remained pacing behind him.

"Right now, so do I," he tried to joke but neither of the agents were in a joking mood. "I get my assignments. I do what I'm told. I don't know who sent it."

"Get your assignment from who?" Don spoke for the first time, startling the young messenger.

"Melissa." Will looked from one agent to the other. "She gives the messengers their packages, but I doubt she'll know who sent it. There are several clerks who receive the packages and process the data."

Megan slid a pad of paper and a pen his way, and he took the hint and started writing the details.

101111

Don looked at the piece of paper in his hands. It was wrapped in the plastic evidence bag. It was Charlie's blood, which meant that somewhere out there, his baby brother was bleeding. Don rubbed at his face.

He and Megan had reached the delivery company several minutes ago and were now waiting for someone in an empty office. Don couldn't get past the fact that the delivery company delivered his brother's blood as if it was some meaningless note.

"Hello." An upbeat, middle-aged man entered the office. "I'm Malcolm Fish, what can I do for you today? Malcolm sat behind the desk. Don and Megan sat as well, introducing themselves.

"One of your employees delivered this to our offices today." Don put the plastic bag on the table, annoyed by the man's good mood. "We want to know who sent it."

"Well, let me check." He accessed his computer and searched for the data. "Here we go." Don glanced at Megan, trying to get her to stop watching him so closely. She gave him a non-committal look in return. "It was paid in cash by Mr. John Eppes."

Don was about to jump out of his seat when Megan put her hand on his arm and spoke calmly. "Can you tell us when it was sent?"

"Nine AM, today. It wasn't processed through this branch, though." He looked up from his computer for a second, avoiding Don's eyes.

"Then where?" Megan's voice had some urgency in it.

"It doesn't say. It was processed by one of our smaller branches within California." Don wanted to strangle an answer out of this man. He felt like he was so close to an answer and this guy wasn't giving it to him.

"Are you sure there's nothing more you can tell us?" Don leaned forward in a threatening manner. Megan reacted by very visibly holding him back from the desk.

"I'll… I'll make a few calls; see if any of my colleagues in the other branches remember anything." Malcolm stuttered, clearly intimidated.

Megan pulled her friend back a bit and replied kindly, "Thank you. That would be appreciated. I'll leave you my number." Megan pulled out her business card and handed it to Malcolm. "Please hurry. A man's life is at stake."

Malcolm nodded. "I'll do what I can."

"Thank you," Don said, taking the plastic bag again.

110000


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N - Thank you for all your kind comments. Again, a new night in a new town and your comments made my day.**

**_ I want to know God's thoughts... the rest are details _**

110000

Charlie had no idea how long he'd been out. It felt like hours. He was still lying on his stomach, his face turned away from the wall. He was watching the red on the floor that used to be a pool of his blood.

He shifted in bed, only to regret the movement. Charlie's back hurt terribly and the movement didn't help matters. He was pretty sure that if he'd look, he'd find his bed stained from the bleeding in his legs, but he was too sore and too cold to move at this point. He hoped help would come soon.

110001

November 2nd

_"Don!" Don heard his brother calling out to him. "Help me. Please. Where are you?" Charlie's voice was pleading._

_Don was on the same long corridor and the voice seemed to be coming from everywhere. "I'm coming, Charlie. Where are you?" Don was panicking. His brother needed his help and he couldn't find him._

_Suddenly, Charlie became very quiet, and Don's apprehension grew. "I'm coming, buddy. Hold on."_

_Don finally reached a door and opened it. Inside the room he saw the silhouette of a man lying on the floor._

_"Help me, Donnie." The figure whispered and Don knew who it was without seeing his face._

_Don reached his hand to his brother's neck to check for a pulse only to find none._

_"No," Don whispered, staring at his hand which was now covered with Charlie's blood._

_"NO," he screamed._

Don woke up startled and took a moment to orient himself. He was in his old bedroom at his brother's house. He had taken to staying in his old room so his father wouldn't be left alone all day and night.

He stared at the red light of the clock next to his bed. It was three AM and Don knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep.

He laid in bed for several minutes, trying to calm himself, the images from his dream haunting him. It didn't take long for the FBI agent's trained ears to hear a familiar sound in the house - the sound of a worried father's restless night. He had seen it the night before. His dad would walk around in the house, searching for someone who wasn't there, and would eventually fall asleep in his youngest son's bedroom, holding his picture.

Don sighed. He wished he could go to his father and help him, but he knew that the fact that he was awake at this hour of the night would only worry his father more. He kept staring at the ceiling and for the first time in a very long time, Don prayed.

110010

Charlie was roused by the door opening.

"Are you awake?" John whispered cautiously.

"Yeah," Charlie croaked.

"Good morning." John smiled brightly at Charlie who hadn't moved an inch. "Sorry I didn't stop by last night."

Charlie calculated fast. He'd been in the basement for over 30 hours with no food or care. John stared at the blood on the floor as he spoke again. "Are you still bleeding?"

"I don't know," Charlie replied sadly.

"What hurts?"

"My back. Left hand." Despite sleeping for many hours, Charlie felt exhausted.

John knelt next to the bed and leaned in for a closer look on Charlie's back. After inspection, he sat back and looked Charlie in the eye. "You have glass in your back," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Yeah." Charlie closed his eyes. He didn't have the energy to deal with this man.

"Let me see your hand." John unwrapped Charlie's makeshift bandage only to reveal a badly discolored wrist. The mathematician watched in detachment as John looked at the swollen limb. "It's probably broken."

Charlie closed his eyes again. "Yeah." He felt his hair pulled back and the collar unlatch and removed.

"Stand up and lean on me instead of your bad leg."

Charlie opened his eyes, surprised. He had forgotten about the twisted ankle. He sat up painfully and paused in his movements. He wanted to run away so badly now that he was free, but found that he could barely hold his head up. He put his feet on the floor, looking at the red stain on his lap as well as the one on the sheets, and sighed.

"I don't want to touch your back so you'll have to lean on me." John offered Charlie his shoulder.

Charlie put his arm around John and let his captor carry most of his weight as they shuffled to the bathroom.

"I should've taken care of this a while ago. I'm sorry I left you this way."

Charlie didn't answer. Speaking required energy and he had none.

John helped Charlie sit on the edge of the bathtub. "Take your clothes off."

With a lot of effort and some help from John, Charlie found himself naked and very nervous. The whole situation was one he was extremely uncomfortable with. John undid the bandages on Charlie's thighs. The mathematician chose to stare at the ceiling as John did it, shivering slightly.

"Those don't look good." John sounded surprised. "Get into the tub. I'll use the water to get those things out of your back."

Charlie sat in the middle of the bathtub, his knees drawn up to his chest.

The water was cold. Charlie noted it since he had been freezing for over a day. The rest of what was happening went over Charlie's head. He knew John was touching his back, removing fragments of broken glass from the tender flesh. He thought the water had a reddish tint to it, but didn't really give it a second thought.

John moved his hand over Charlie's back, feeling for more fragments. "I'm done." Charlie didn't react to John's words, continuing to shake in his almost fetal position in the tub. "Lean back a bit. I think you might still have some glass in your hair." Charlie did as he was told and let John wash his hair for him. He wanted to cry out, but couldn't seem to find his voice. "I think we're done, buddy." Charlie half nodded, half lowered his head, dripping water on his knees.

"I'll let you finish on your own."

Charlie watched John leaving the room like prey would look at his predator, sighing heavily when John was finally out. He washed himself quickly with his right hand, careful with his cuts and bruises.

Charlie turned the water off and climbed out of the bathtub. He took a moment to steady himself before putting some underwear on. He wanted to put something over his cuts before wearing pants and started searching for a makeshift bandage when John walked in.

"Let me patch you up." John sounded like he was feeling sorry for Charlie. It didn't make sense to the mathematician, who couldn't seem to figure it out. "Give me your hand."

"Legs first. I'm cold, I want to get dressed."

John nodded. "Fair enough."

He sat on the floor in front of Charlie, touching him tenderly. "I want to clean these, it's gonna sting."

Charlie nodded and looked away from John's wandering hands. He didn't react to the familiar sting. His only movement was his right hand fidgeting at his side, giving a hint as to how distraught he was. It felt like his mind was working in slow motion, like he was moving through some thick liquid that slows everything down. Cold. Pain. He was processing the world on a very basic level. Alone – good. John – bad.

"Talk to me, Charlie." John sounded upset. Charlie didn't care.

"Cold," Charlie whispered.

John looked at him and then left the room to return with a warm blanket. Charlie didn't register John's actions as he wrapped the blanket around his prisoner. "You were lying half naked in your own blood for too long. You're in shock." John rubbed his hands over Charlie's arms. "This should help."

Charlie wanted to nod in response. He wasn't sure whether he did or didn't.

John turned on the water in the bathtub again. This time, instead of using cold water that wouldn't irritate Charlie's cuts, he ran a hot steamy bath.

"Charlie, look at me." He grabbed Charlie's face, but his eyes didn't focus.

John picked Charlie up and laid him in the tub. "Talk to me, buddy."

110011


	11. Chapter 11

_** Parents learn a lot from their children about coping with life **_

110011

He looked at his father sleeping in his brother's bed. Don didn't want to leave for work without saying good morning, but he was also reluctant to wake his dad up. He knew Alan had been awake most of the night. Eventually he decided to just go to work and let his father sleep as much as he could.

Don was tired. He blinked some of the exhaustion away as he walked down the stairs. He had been up half the night worrying. Worrying for Charlie and worrying for his father. The whole situation scared him. He was sure there was an answer somewhere staring him right in the face.

He looked at the family pictures on the walls. Stopping for a second in front of a picture of Charlie and their mother, Don sighed. He had no idea when the picture had been taken. He assumed it was some time after he left L.A. He had already lost so much time. '_Just come back to me, Charlie. Give me another chance._'

Don closed the door behind him quietly and put his sunglasses on.

110100

By the time Charlie's mind came back into focus, he was out of the bath. He was dry and warm and the lacerations on his legs were dressed.

"Welcome back, buddy." John smiled as he steadied Charlie on the tub's edge. "Can I let go?"

Charlie nodded, smiling slightly. He _was_ feeling much better.

"Let me give you a nice shave," John said kindly. "It'll feel good."

The mathematician didn't respond. He did his best to sit still.

When John was done, he took a towel and dried Charlie's face and then ran it through his wet hair. John inspected his handiwork. "There - much better." Sitting on the floor next to Charlie, he asked, "Are you still cold?"

Charlie shook his head, not trusting his voice.

"Good." John took in a deep breath. "This is going to hurt, but I have to put a splint on your arm."

Charlie bit his lip before nodding, stretching his left arm towards John. He closed his eyes when he saw John reach for the splint and clenched his jaw as his captor wrapped the bandages around his arm and painfully set Charlie's arm in place. The young mathematician wanted to scream as he felt the broken pieces of bone move against each other, but instead he bit deeper into his lip, drawing blood.

"How does that feel?" John asked, content with his work.

Charlie opened his eyes and looked at John through unshed tears. Though it hurt like hell, he muttered through clenched teeth "Okay."

"I'll give you something for the pain in a second." John spoke forcefully as Charlie was about the object. "No arguing." The younger man nodded in surrender, making a mental note to approach the issue later. "Let me take a look at your back."

Charlie turned as much as he could without falling.

"It doesn't look too bad," John said after some inspection. "I'd like to cover some of it up to keep it clean."

As he waited for John to finish, Charlie tried to figure out what he was supposed to say. John kept hurting him and then apologizing and taking care of the injuries he himself had caused. Charlie's logical mind couldn't understand this behavior and his efforts to do so were leaving him emotionally exhausted.

"All done." John put his hands on Charlie's shoulders and kissed him on the back of his head. Charlie was surprised by the gesture, but said nothing. "Get dressed." John handed Charlie some clothes and left the bathroom. Charlie noticed his abductor purposefully didn't close the door behind him as he went into the bedroom, changing the stained sheets on Charlie's bed. The young mathematician was relieved to see that John seemed to be busy with his task and not watching him. He dressed as fast as he could, the vulnerability of his situation becoming more overwhelming by the second.

110101

Megan watched Don as he walked into the bullpen. He looked terrible. She knew Merrick had ordered Don to see a counselor, but was pretty sure he hadn't done it. She listened to her friend's footsteps. It was Saturday and the building was empty enough for her to be able to hear Don dragging his feet.

She had met families of abduction victims in the past and knew what to expect, but seeing her friends going through this nightmare was harder than Megan thought it would be. In a weird way, the whole team felt a bit like Charlie's older sibling. Partly because Don's overprotective behavior was rubbing off on them and partly because Charlie had a naive personality they all wanted to protect. The thought of that gentle mind being tortured and his thoughts warped into whatever John wanted disturbed her. Maybe it was the profiler part in her, but she knew and feared the affects of psychological manipulation. The very idea of brainwash terrified her. Colby was thinking about it too. Megan could see in his eyes that whatever he had seen during his military service had caused him to fear these affects more than any of them. Don's mind hadn't reached the point where he feared anything beyond the physical effects and Megan wasn't looking forward for the moment when it _did_ catch up.

That would really be a bad day. It would be the day Don would realize that whenever they finally found his brother, he would no longer be Charlie. It would also be the day Don would no longer be Don. She could already see her friend fading away.

"Good morning," she said in the most cheerful voice she could muster.

"Morning," Don replied quietly.

110110

Charlie and John were eating breakfast in the kitchen. They had made the journey up the stairs slowly, and Charlie had been completely worn out by the time he got to his seat. Despite the difficulty, he was glad to have the chance to climb the stairs himself, limiting the contact between his jailor and his aching body.

He ate reluctantly. Charlie had no appetite and barely had enough energy to chew his food, but he knew he had to get some nutrition into his body or he'd just keep getting weaker. He stared at John sitting in front of him, trying to judge his state of mind. He was so deep in thought he hadn't realized John was speaking to him.

"What?"

"I asked if you're done," repeated his captor.

"Yeah."

"Good." John produced a syringe seemingly out of nowhere. "I didn't want to give this to you on an empty stomach."

Charlie stared at the syringe for a long moment before asking, "What's that?"

"It'll help with the pain." John sat next to Charlie and pulled up his sleeve.

"It's just a broken arm, I don't need anything." Charlie breaths came at a faster pace as he stared at the unknown drug he didn't want in his system.

"I'm not going to let you hurt like this if I can stop it." John wiped Charlie's arm with an alcohol wipe. "You'll feel a little sting - that's all."

Charlie watched as the liquid drained into his arm and only looked away when John removed the needle from his body. He stared at the wall, waiting for the drug to kick in.

"It should help you sleep better, too." John stood, towering over Charlie.

"Sleep?" Charlie's words slurred as he realized he was given more than just a pain killer. "What did…?" Charlie's tongue stopped working properly and he just sat staring again. He saw the walls moving around him more than felt John picking him up and putting him on the couch, propping him on his side.

"Sweet dreams," Charlie heard as his eyes closed.

110111

Sarah Wilcox was a homemaker. She had three kids and she enjoyed her every day life in San Francisco. When her new neighbors had moved in, she decided to stop by and meet them. Now, Sarah was knocking on their door softly. She knew someone would be home since there was a car in the driveway.

"Hello," a man opened the door with a bright smile.

"Hello, my name is Sarah Wilcox, I live across the street." Sarah pointed to her home. "I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood."

"Thank you, Mrs. Wilcox. Please, call me John." John opened the door fully and leaned on the doorframe.

"Only if you call me Sarah." She smiled at John. He was an impressive looking man.

"It's a deal." He bowed his head slightly and she laughed.

"I saw your friend when you moved in. Is he here?" she asked curiously.

"Charlie's my brother." John sighed heavily, shifting his weight. "He had an accident and he's still dealing with the repercussions. I hope you can understand, but he's not really himself and he doesn't spend time with people. Won't even leave the house."

"Yes, of course." Sarah put a comforting hand on John's arm, letting it linger for a moment. "Will he be okay?"

"They don't know." John glanced inside the house nervously and then quickly returned his look to his guest. "I should really check on him," he said apologetically. "it was a pleasure to meet you."

"You too."

Sarah left to her own home. She had seen John's brother in the wheelchair and hoped that the sweet looking man would be okay.

111000

_Charlie was sitting in his office, working on his computer, when his brother walked in._

_"Hi, Charlie." Don was smiling. "How are you?"_

_"I miss you, Donnie." Charlie bit his lip and glanced at his brother for a second. "I don't understand what he wants from me," he whispered._

_Don walked towards his little brother, sitting right in front of him. "I'll find you, Charlie." Don emphasized every word. "Just hold on."_

_"How?" Charlie's voice was small and scared._

_"I'll help you." The FBI agent took his brother's hand. "I'm right here with you."_

_Charlie smiled with relief and squeezed Don's hand in return. "Don't leave."_

_"I won't." Don brought his other hand up to cover Charlie's. "I'm not going anywhere."_

111001

Charlie woke up on the basement floor, still disoriented from the drugs. He had no idea how long it had been, but judging by his hunger, it had been a good part of the day.

He lay still, letting his mind catch up to reality from the drug induced daze. The first thought that came to him was thirst. He wanted water. And then pain. There was a lot of pain. He couldn't figure out where the pain was coming from. It seemed to be everywhere. Charlie tried to blink the haze away, but it didn't work. He brought his hands under him and tried to get up, only the find himself flat on the floor again as his arm buckled. Trying again, he leaned on his other arm and managed to get himself upright.

He limped clumsily towards the bathroom - one of his legs wasn't working very well. He wanted to scream for someone to tell him what was going on, to stop the pain and the fog that was enveloping him, but his throat was too dry to speak. And he doubted anyone would answer.

He was breathing raggedly and the throbbing seemed to match the pace air was entering his body. Reaching the bathroom, he leaned heavily on the sink and turned on the faucet, first drinking and then washing his face.

Charlie stopped the flow of water and straightened his back, looking at the mirror. His mind cleared as he stared at the unfortunate reflection. His face was badly bruised, his lip was split, his cheekbones and eyes swollen. Charlie lifted his shirt with apprehension, knowing that the rhythmic throbbing meant something else was wrong. His ribs were purple and green, patterned with different marks from fists and boots. He prayed nothing was broken.

"What the hell happened?" Charlie whispered, panic rising inside of him. "Did I dream about Don? I don't remember." He closed his eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling.

His lip had bled, and as he washed the blood off his face he realized that the fact that it was no longer bleeding was not a good sign. It meant that he had been unconscious for a while.

The mathematician looked at the mirror again and noticed for the first time that the collar was on his neck again and that there seemed to be an ugly bruise forming underneath it. He was becoming more and more aware of the pain and where it was coming from. Overwhelmed by it, he allowed his body to sink to the floor.

He sat there, staring at the wall in front of him, trying to calm down from the shock his recent discoveries had invoked. There were no experiences in his life to prepare him to the terrible feeling of waking up and finding something bad had happened to him, but having no idea what that was. The idea of being touched, handled, beaten and carried by John without his knowledge made him feel sick.

He didn't know if it was caused by that realization or the result of the blows he'd received, but Charlie found himself bent over the toilet, heaving.

111010

"Agent Reeves." A young woman approached the agent quietly.

"Yes?" Megan looked up from her computer. It was the same woman who gave her the last note John had sent, but while there was urgency in her voice that time, this time she approached with caution.

"We got another delivery," she almost whispered. "I thought I should show you before I told Agent Eppes."

"Another note?" The woman obviously saw something she didn't want to face Don with.

"A picture." She swallowed hard. "It looks… bad." She handed Megan the picture shakily. "I wasn't sure if I should…"

"You did the right thing coming to me first." Megan took it almost casually. "Thank you."

Megan waited until she had walked away before she looked at the photograph that had left the woman so shaken.

The experienced agent gasped when she saw the image in the picture. It was Charlie, though it was a little hard to recognize him. His eyes were closed in what Megan hoped was blissful, painless sleep. It looked like John was keeping his promise to torture her young friend.

The next step would be to show it to Don. If there was one thing she _didn't_ want to do it was to show this to Charlie's brother.

"Megan." She heard a voice behind her and turned to face Alan Eppes. She was unprepared to see him and didn't get the photo out of the way fast enough. She quickly changed her mind - if there was one thing she didn't want to do it was to show the picture to _Alan_. Unfortunately, he had already seen it in her hands.

"Hello, Alan. How are you?" she said, he voice unnaturally cheerful.

"Just dropping by to check on my son. How are you?" Alan eyed her. She suspected she'd gone quite pale when he surprised her.

"I'm good." She desperately looked around for Don who was annoyingly absent from her line of sight.

Alan motioned to the object she was clutching in her hands. "What's that?"

"Nothing." Megan tried to hide it as fast as she could, but Alan was way ahead of her and grabbed her hand gently.

"What's that?" he asked again, looking Megan in the eye.

"Alan," she said warningly, shaking her head.

"Let me see it." He paused, searching her face. "Please, I need to know."

"You don't need to know this." Something in her voice must have convinced him. He let go of her arm.

"What is it?" he asked, standing back.

"A picture."

"He's hurting my boy." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yeah." Megan confirmed.

"Hi, Dad." Megan was relieved to have Don interrupt the conversation, though she knew she wasn't off the hook yet.

"Donnie, hi." Alan visibly shook himself from his previous dark thoughts. "You left early this morning. I didn't see you."

"Yeah. Sorry. I couldn't sleep anymore."

"You say that like you slept at all," Megan remarked under her breath. She was worried about her friend and she knew his father shared her concern.

"Don't you start."

Megan could see the moment the picture caught Don's attention. He motioned with his head towards it.

"Another message from John," Megan answered his unvoiced question and then swallowed hard. "A photo."

Don took a step away from his father as he reached for it. Megan handed it over reluctantly.

111011

Alan watched as his oldest son sank into a chair, a look of pure anguish on his face. "Oh, God," he heard Don mumble. "What has he done to you?" For a second, Alan was thankful Megan hadn't shown him the picture. He wasn't sure how he would've handled it.

Alan lowered himself next to his son, noticing that Megan had made sure they would have privacy. He was surprised to see tears streaming down the agent's face.

"Donnie," Alan said firmly, getting Don to look at him.

"I just…" Don's voice croaked, lost for words.

"I know," Alan whispered, momentarily lost in his own sorrow.

"What do I do?" Don looked at his hands, which were covering his brother's photo.

"Your best. One day at a time."

"What if it's not enough?"

"It will be," Alan said with a confidence he didn't have. "It'll have to be."

111100


	12. Chapter 12

_** Never, never, never, never give up **_

111100

November 4th

"Agent Eppes," AD Merrick called from across the bullpen. "We need to talk." He indicated the conference room.

Don followed his boss into the room and closed the door behind him. It had been a week since Charlie had been abducted. Seven days in which Don's world had turned upside down. He hoped Walt Merrick wasn't about to bring up the shrink again. He didn't have time for that.

"I wanted to talk to you before I assign you a new case. I-"

Don cut him off, startled. "You're not taking me off Charlie's case?"

"Please listen to me." Agent Merrick spoke softly, something Don didn't expect. "There was a bank robbery. I need a good team on the scene. I'll do what I can to make sure it won't take too much time out of you, but I need you to do this today. Two people were killed."

Don nodded reluctantly. He knew Merrick was doing what he could to help him within his limitations. "We'll take care of it."

111101

"How was dinner?" John asked as he walked into the living room. Charlie was lying on the couch, notebook at hand. He was trying to do whatever John wanted and move as little as possible to cope with the pain. The daily assaults left him aching all over. He had no idea where the pain was emanating from anymore.

"It was good." Charlie couldn't remember what he'd eaten.

John grabbed the remote and sat back on the sofa. "What are you working on?"

"Cognitive emergence theory," the mathematician answered automatically.

John turned on the evening news and Charlie prayed they wouldn't run his missing person's notice again.

"What's that all about?" Charlie looked up at John, seeing the TV screen from the corner of his eye.

"It's a mathematical application of neurons processing in the brain." Charlie recited his declared statement. In truth, he was working on a way out.

"How long will it take you to figure it out?"

Charlie smiled for a second. "A lifetime."

John laughed, sending shivers up Charlie's spine.

"… On recent news, an armed robbery took place today in the LA branch of the San Francisco Federal Bank, killing two and wounding seven. Federal agents on the scene have…"

The news anchor was speaking in the background, and neither one of the men in the room was listening. John was looking away from the TV, and Charlie tried to keep it that way. But the mathematician couldn't hide his surprise as he saw familiar faces on the TV screen. First it was Colby. Then Megan and David and finally, he saw Don. Charlie saw his brother order his team as he had seen him do many times before, but today it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

His eyes were transfixed on the screen until John interrupted. "No!" John yelled and threw the remote at the TV, smashing the screen to pieces. "He's gone!"

Charlie tried to stay unnoticed. Too scared to move, he stayed as quiet as he could.

John looked at him, visually considering his next move. As he finally made a grab for him, Charlie prepared himself for what was about to happen. He wasn't sure how one prepared himself for torture, but figured that was what he was doing.

And then it came.

111110

November 5th

Charlie was sitting in the wheelchair next to his bed, his notebook resting against the armrest. He was thankful he had passed out before the worst had come, but he knew he hadn't been spared. John had concentrated on his legs for some reason, and now Charlie sat in the wheelchair simply because it was the least painful position.

There were several bruises and boot prints across his legs and lower body, but his biggest problem was his knees, which had taken the brunt of John's anger. Charlie couldn't tell what the injury was, but he was sure he'd be bound to the wheelchair for weeks - the level of his discomfort and difficulty moving indicating that recovery would take a while.

Charlie passed his good arm over the armrest, feeling the chair's cold metal with distaste. It was a new prison, smaller than the room he was locked in, different than the leash around his neck. It was another restraint that he now couldn't live without.

He leaned his head back in the chair as he thought about what he'd seen last night with a smile. Don had looked tired, and Charlie knew he was the likely reason for his brother's distress. But despite the dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his form, Charlie thought his brother looked great. He wished he could've seen his father as well.

The mathematician turned his attention back to his notebook, adding his observations from the last few days to his calculations.

111111

Don studied his reflection in the mirror. He was surprised by how haggard he looked and ducked his head to wash his face in the sink. He hated the guy he saw in front of him, and considered punching the image just to vent his anger. He knew that his chances of finding Charlie were diminishing with every passing minute. Nine days had already passed and any clues his brother's abductor might've left behind were disappearing.

The agent splashed his face with cold water again, trying to control the anger John provoked in him. As an FBI agent he had solved many cases and helped many families, but he couldn't help his own. His father, his baby brother… himself. He hated himself for his failure. He hated himself for all the bad words that'd been said and all the good ones he had kept inside. He hated himself for not hugging Charlie more, for not laughing with him more, for not watching him more when he was filled with excitement as he explained math to someone.

Don's little brother was never as cocky as he was smart. He didn't tell people he was a genius - that he was special - and Don had always appreciated that about him. At some point in their lives, Charlie had realized that his brother liked it that way and had stopped telling him about things that had to do with his work. It was only recently that Don realized that his younger brother had won prizes he had never told him about, praises he had never boasted about. Don had only realized, after his brother's kidnapping, that the mathematician had consulted on some big projects and was highly appreciated as a consultant by some very important people. Over the past week, Don had been getting calls from people he had only heard about in the past. He was beginning to realize that the level of cases Charlie had been helping him with was small stuff compared to what he was accustomed to. Don was becoming more and more proud and honored to have Charlie for a brother and a friend.

Don washed his face again. He really hoped those phone calls would stop soon. He was amazed that the CIA or the DEA were finding his brother so valuable, but every time he had to tell some high ranking official that he had no news for him, he felt even more like a failure.

1000000

November 6th

Charlie leaned back in the kitchen chair as John was serving the meal. He looked at his food distastefully. The less he ate, the less his body protested the mistreatment with the pain of hunger. He had gone over 24 hours without food and it didn't hurt as much as he knew it should've. He was never a big eater, and it didn't take a lot for his body to get used to his current situation. Charlie was very aware of the fact he was starving. He could already see the weight loss in the mirror and it scared him.

He eyed John for a moment and then returned his gaze to his food. He had had to be carried to the kitchen again, a thing John seemed delighted to do. Charlie was surprised to feel a tear sliding down his face and whipped it away with his good hand quickly.

The young mathematician closed his eyes. His face was badly swollen and it hurt to keep them open for too long. He tried to conjure an image of his family into his mind. The more time went by and the life he had been used to living became more distant, the harder it was for him to get a clear picture.

"Aren't you hungry?" John asked innocently, dragging Charlie from his thoughts.

"Yeah." Charlie opened his eyes and picked up the fork. It took him a second to hold the utensil well enough to use it, since his movement was hindered by his injuries. His abductor looked at him piteously and Charlie had to force himself to concentrate on his food.

1000001

_"Hey, buddy." Don walked into his brother's living room._

_"Don." Charlie was surprised to see his brother. The surprise was instantly replaced by alarm which rapidly turned to panic. "You can't be here."_

_"Why not?" Don asked with a smile. "I thought I'd come to watch the game with you."_

_"John will find out." Charlie stood back from his brother. "He'll beat me again. I can't do it anymore. Please go away." He backed away into a wall. "Please," he said with no voice. "Leave me alone," he cried. "Please."_

Charlie woke up panting. Still feeling tired, he closed his eyes again, hoping he wasn't bleeding from the new cut on his back.

1000010

"Eppes," Don answered his office phone abruptly.

"This is Malcolm Fish. You asked me to call if I found out anything more about your packages," the caller said, hesitating.

Don allowed himself some hope for a second. "Yes?"

"You received another delivery three days ago. It was sent from our branch in Carmel by John Eppes. Is that helpful?"

Don, who knew he had scared Malcolm when they had first met, tried to sound happy and stress free. "Very. Who do I talk to there?"

"Martha Billing," Malcolm replied. "She'll be expecting you."

"Thank you, Mr. Fish." Don hung up the phone and slowly let go of the breath he'd been holding. "David," he called out. "We're taking a road trip."

1000011

Alan sat on his back porch, enjoying two cups of coffee and the cool weather with Larry.

"Has there been any news?" Larry asked his friend's father.

"Nothing. Or, at least, nothing Don wanted to tell me." Alan shared a brief, knowing smile with Larry. They both knew Don would be reluctant to tell his father anything besides the news that said Charlie had been found.

"He's protecting you."

Alan sipped his coffee and considered Larry's statement for a second. "I think he's protecting himself," Alan said honestly. "I can't say I blame him."

Larry mused, "Those two have an interesting relationship."

"Things are pretty good these days. It hasn't always been this way."

"I know."

Something about the way Larry said that caused Alan to look at him curiously. "I have a feeling there's a story behind that," Alan said with a small smile.

"After Charlie's first semester in my class, I asked him to come and see me." Larry traveled down memory lane. "I saw potential in his work and I wanted to talk to him about it. Of course I had no idea how old he was, I thought he just looked young." Alan chuckled, knowing Charlie had gotten a lot of interesting reactions from people. "When I told him I thought he was good with numbers, he looked really amused." Larry smiled, his voice slightly pitched. "I had no idea what was going on." Alan started laughing with the physics professor.

"Talk about stating the obvious."

"That's what _he_ said." Larry leaned in as if he was telling a secret. "After I found out how old he was and about the circumstances that brought him to CalSci, he mentioned that a lot of people react badly when they find out."

"Yeah." Alan sighed. "He's had some problems with that." He took a moment to consider what Larry was saying. "Especially with Don. They had it rough for a while."

"I got that impression - did something happen?" Larry asked the question he'd been wondering about ever since he had first gotten to know the young Charlie Eppes.

"Don became a teenager." Alan chuckled. "And in a true teenage way, he lashed out at his little brother." He took in a deep breath, trying to keep his voice level while remembering those problems. "Charlie didn't go to school with kids his own age and a lot of his confidence and socialization involved his brother. So when Don got to that age, he…" Alan sighed, rubbing at his face. "The more attention Charlie got from people, the more Don gave him a hard time. If you would've told me back then that they'd work together the way they do, I would've laughed." He smiled lovingly. "It's so good to see them now."

"I got the feeling there was a lot of anger there."

"From Charlie? I would assume so. He was always aware of the fact that he was different and it was really hard on him as a child. Don just reminded him on daily basis." Alan did his best to forget the awful fights his sons had had, causing Charlie to close off for days and Don to try and get away from him, only isolating Charlie more.

"He still seems uncomfortable with it." Larry sipped on his coffee.

"For him, being as smart as he is didn't mean being unique, it meant being different… unusual. Kids called him names - including Don - and he agreed with them. He knows now that it's a good-different not a bad-different, but I think that on some level he doesn't completely differentiate between the two." Alan looked at his son's quirky friend hoping he, of all people, would understand. He knew that somehow he never had.

"He's getting there." Larry commented after some thought. "And Don's helping him do that."

"Yeah." Alan smiled. "They're doing better than ever."

1000100

November 7th

"_NO!_" Charlie woke up screaming. He felt the fear from the dream, but he couldn't remember what he had dreamt about, only that it involved Don and that it was violent. And that John had been there.

He sat up in bed, still breathing heavily from the dream, his hands sweating despite him being cold. Charlie looked at the wheelchair in disgust. He wanted to go to the bathroom, which was only a few feet away, but every movement hurt and the voyage to the bathroom was excruciating at times.

He took a big breath and started his efforts to get from the bed to the chair. His knees still protested the little he moved them, and he barely got through what he had to do. Charlie had stopped keeping track of his cuts and bruises - it seemed that there was always something getting bruised and he had learned to ignore the sore areas. The cuts were harder to ignore and he suspected that John knew that when he made them. His back now supported quite a number of slices in different stages of healing.

Finally getting into the chair, he used his hand to lift his legs onto the leg rests. He closed his eyes and tried to think of his father.

1000101


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Thank you so much for your kind reviews. **

**Unfortunatly, my beta has been under the weather and it might be a while before the next update. **

**_And you bleed just to know you're alive _**

1000101

Martha Billing's office was pretty small, as was the whole company's branch in Carmel. Don and David had arrived first thing in the morning and were now waiting for Mrs. Billing to arrive. David was studying Don, which annoyed the senior agent tremendously. David had seen his friend's behavior fluctuate over the last week, changing from a sedate almost depressed man to the edgy and wired agent he was seeing right now. He knew that Don's behavior would startle any witness they might encounter, and had mentioned to him to try and stay quiet.

"Hello agents," Martha Billing greeted the two men sitting in her office. "Malcolm mentioned you're interested in a man called John Eppes."

"Actually." David eyed Don only to see him sitting quietly. "That's not his real name. But yeah, we're looking for him."

"I don't know what I could tell you. He paid in cash, didn't leave an address…" Martha trailed off.

"Do you have surveillance cameras?" Don asked, his voice having an edge to it.

"No."

David leaned in towards her. "Who talked to him?"

"I took the order, but I really don't remember the guy," Martha said apologetically.

"Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

Martha shook her head sadly. "I have no idea. Maybe he'd look familiar, but…" Martha tried hard, but had nothing to offer the two agents. She was obviously aware of their distress.

"If he comes back," David said, handing her his business card. He wanted to get out of the room as fast as he could. Mrs. Billing couldn't help them and the look on Don's face was getting from bad to worse. "Thank you."

1000110

"Damn it!" Don yelled as he banged his hand on the car's closed door.

"Don," David put his hands up in an attempt to placate the senior agent. They had just left Martha Billing's office with nothing to go on.

"I have to find him, David," Don said in a raised voice.

Seeing his friend's anguish was tearing him apart. "I know," David almost whispered.

"Do you?" Don looked at him, frantic. "Do you know what it's like to know your little brother is being tortured? Bleeding somewhere? That he's out there, alone, waiting for me to get to him and I'm not there?" He lashed out at his friend, not even noticing the tears sliding down his face. "Do you know what it's like to hear him scream?" Don's voice cracked and he stopped talking, seeming to deflate suddenly. He leaned back against the car, his head down. David stood in front of him.

"Don." David waited for his friend to look at him. "No. I don't know what it's like. But I _know _we'll find him. I _know_ I'll see him again - and so will you."

Don nodded, keeping his head low. He wanted to believe.

1000111

November 8th

For the first time in many days, Charlie laid on his back. The cuts from the glass weren't hurting anymore and Charlie could handle the pain from the cuts John had done with his knife.

John got upset last night. Charlie wasn't sure what had unsettled him and it didn't matter. He got upset a lot. Last night, John had thrown Charlie on the floor and put his booted foot on the young man's chest. He had applied pressure until Charlie couldn't breathe and had passed out. Charlie now had a painful purple boot print on his chest and thought he had heard at least two ribs fracture.

Breathing was painful. Moving was so painful, Charlie's vision had clouded and he thought he would pass out when he had made his last journey to the bathroom. So he lay on his back, staring blindly at the ceiling.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get the burning sensation out. He tried to imagine what his family and friends were doing right now. He figured Don would be interviewing people, trying to find him. His friends were probably teaching a class and his father… he worried about him.

Alan, like his sons, was the kind of guy who needed to do _something_. He didn't do the waiting helplessly part too well. How much was the situation hurting him? Was he okay? Was he handling it somehow? Charlie found himself praying that he was. He dreamt of letting his father hold him and make all the problems go away the way only a father could. The way his father had always done.

He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He missed everyone so much. It was the first time he realized just how lonely he felt. He had spent the last 12 days practically alone, and he missed having someone else around. Anyone else. He missed the sunlight, missed walking, missed teaching… and he missed people.

Charlie wiggled the fingers in his broken arm, testing its limits. He did that a lot, as if expecting to find that it had all been a dream. He found that it still hurt as much as it had the last time he checked. The pain was real, it made him feel real, the broken bones were real, and no amount of wishing would make that go away.

The mathematician closed his eyes, whishing for peaceful sleep to come. The dreams didn't have as much pain in them, they didn't feel as lonely as real life and even though his dreams of his brother often got him beaten, at least he wasn't alone there. But the dreams weren't real.

He didn't want to have to escape reality. He knew it was a dangerous road to take, and one he might not be able to get off of once he started going there.

Charlie opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again. Time moved slower than ever.

1001000

"Don," Alan called out to his son.

"Yeah." Don was sitting in the garage, staring at Charlie's familiar handwriting on the chalkboards. He hadn't been able to say more than a few words to anyone since his conversation with David, and he chose to get some time alone in one of Charlie's favorite places.

"What's wrong?" Alan asked after entering the room and taking one look at his son. "You got home late last night, did something happen?"

"Unfortunately, no." Don kept staring at the boards, trying to hear the sound the chalk made when Charlie wrote on them.

Alan spoke again, disturbing Don's efforts. "You lost me."

"How have you been sleeping?" Don changed the subject. He didn't have to look at his father to know how badly he looked.

"The same. It's easier when I'm in his room. It's almost like I can feel him there." The older man admitted sadly. "You?"

"Same."

Alan waited for Don to elaborate, and allowed his eyes to wonder the room. "Smells like chalk," the older man said.

"Smells like Charlie."

Alan looked back at his son, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "Yeah." Letting another second go by, he spoke again. "What's wrong?"

"I'm just-" Don looked down at his hands. "Not finding him."

"Don." Alan tried to console his son.

"Don't tell me I'm going to find him. It's been almost two weeks and we don't have any leads." Don finally looked at his father. "It doesn't look good." Don went back to staring at the blackboards.

"This came for you." Alan handed the agent a small envelope.

Don opened the envelope slowly. Upon seeing its message he looked away, clutching both the envelope and it's content in his hands.

"What does it say?" Alan asked worriedly, seeing how hard Don was working to keep from crying. When he didn't get a response, he read it in his son's hand. "It's a number," he said, confused.

"It's from John. We haven't been able to tell what it means." Don rubbed his hand over his face.

"Don't touch it." Don jumped when his father reached for the only link he had to his young son.

"Why not?" Alan looked at Don pointedly, intentionally trying to remind him of their agreement not to hide anything.

"It's not written in ink. Don't touch the number."

He searched his son's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"It's written in Charlie's blood."

Alan dropped the hand that had been reaching for the note and only stared at Don, shocked. "No," he whispered unconsciously. "Why?" Alan shook his head, looking away from Don and the note and turning his attention to the boards.

"I don't know, Dad." Don put his hand on Alan's arm. "I don't know."

1001001

November 10th

Charlie half-sat, half-laid down in his bed. He hadn't seen John in a while. He didn't know how long, but it felt like more than a day or two. Hunger was bothering him again and he hoped John would let him eat soon.

As if hearing his thoughts, John opened the door.

"Hi, Charlie. How have you been?"

"Fine," Charlie replied, knowing the answer was irrelevant.

"We have guests today. You should change your clothes."

Charlie stared at John, not knowing how to react. "What?"

"I'll help you," John said while walking towards the cabinet and getting Charlie a fresh set of clothes. "Sit up."

He sat up, clenching his jaw as his ribs protested the movement with a wave of pain and nausea. Once the violent reaction became too much to handle, he stopped moving. Noticing Charlie's problems, John sat next to him on the bed, putting his arm around the mathematician's back and pulling him upright. Scooting further back on the bed, John sat behind Charlie so he'd be able to use him for support. "You okay?" he whispered in Charlie's ear.

"Sore." Charlie's voice quivered.

"I'm sorry I keep doing that, buddy." John rubbed his hands over Charlie's shoulders. "It'll get better."

Charlie closed his eyes, trying to calm his breathing.

"Let me do this for you." John grabbed the bottom of Charlie's shirt and started pulling it up. "Put your hands over your head." A groan escaped Charlie as he lifted his arms, stretching his injured back and abdomen muscles more than they were willing to go. John pulled the shirt off Charlie in one swift motion. "Don't move." John ordered as he grabbed the fresh shirt. Charlie could feel his captor's scrutinizing gaze as he inspected Charlie's cut and discolored torso. The mathematician stared ahead, ignoring the looks his battered body got. He felt more than saw the shirt being pulled over his stretched arms and then his head. "There you go," John said when the shirt was in place.

Charlie didn't answer. Not only did he have nothing to say, but his lack of use of his voice was beginning to take effect in some soreness.

"Now your pants," John stated. Charlie bit his lip nervously. He wasn't sure how they were going to pull that off since he couldn't stand, but he was sure it was going to hurt.

"You should lean back completely." John took the pillow so Charlie could lay flat on his back. He got up from the bed, leaving the empty bed for the injured man. "Lie down."

Charlie laid back fast, trying to cut down on the time his abdomen muscles had to work.

"This is going to hurt," John warned. He put his arm under the small of Charlie's back and lifted his mid section so he could pull the mathematician's pants down. Charlie screamed in agony as his ribs protested the movement and breathed heavily with the effort. "God, please stop," Charlie mumbled between labored breaths. "Please," he begged without a voice.

Once the pants were off, John put Charlie back on the bed. "I want to take a look at those cuts." He motioned to Charlie's thighs. "You rest for now."

Charlie did just that and tried to calm his breathing down. It didn't help that he was naked and exposed to John.

"These look good," John said after inspection. "We can keep the dressing off." Charlie nodded absent mindedly, still trying to calm his breathing since it's frantic pace was causing pain.

He clenched his jaw as John put the new pants up Charlie's legs, moving his wounded knees in the process.

Charlie's voice was barely audible. "What now?"

"Like before. I lift you up so you don't have to use anything." John smiled, putting his arm under Charlie's back again. As his abdomen lifted, pain exploded through out his torso. A whimper escaped his lips and his vision clouded. He realized too late that he wasn't breathing as his broken ribs moved against his insides. It wasn't long before everything went dark and Charlie slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

1001010

Opening his eyes slowly, Charlie looked around. He was sitting in the wheelchair next to the living room couch. He could see the sun outside and longed to feel its warmth. He had spent the last two weeks in the relative cool basement and missed the warm weather.

"You're awake," John said happily as he entered the room.

Charlie gave him half a smile and sized himself up. He was completely dressed, shaved and cleaned. His hair was wet after being washed and combed. He was propped awkwardly in the wheelchair, but he had to admit it was a fairly painless position. He suspected John had given him something for the pain, but he wasn't sure. It took his usually observant mind a second to realize something else, something he wasn't so accustomed to – he wasn't chained to anything.

"You feeling okay?" John approached his young prisoner.

"Yeah." Charlie's voice was hoarse. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Listen to me, buddy." John sat on the couch in front of Charlie, taking his attention. "Your arm and ribs are broken. Your legs aren't working. If you try to do anything, I will stop you. You're not strong enough to get away from me and I don't want you to make me hurt you." Charlie knew the man was right. He wouldn't get the leverage - he couldn't out run John. He knew the numbers were against a violent attempt of escape.

"Our neighbors are coming for lunch. I told them about your problems. You tell them that I hurt you and they won't believe you. And I will make you regret doing it. Do we understand each other?" John spoke calmly, but there was no doubt he would keep his word.

"Yes."

John nodded once and left the room, leaving Charlie alone.

The mathematician barely noticed when John left, his mind already reeling with activity. He could feel a plan forming.

1001011


	14. Chapter 14

**_ Put your hand on a hot stove for a minute, and it seems like an hour.  
Sit with a pretty girl for an hour, and it seems like a minute. That's  
relativity _**

1001011

Sarah Wilcox and her husband Peter arrived at their neighbor's house at noon. She had told Peter about the two brothers that lived there and they were both expecting the quiet afternoon in adult company. The older brother – John – greeted them at the door while the younger one – Charlie – sat quietly in his wheelchair at the farther end of the living room. He seemed to be deep in thought, so while her husband talked to John she stepped closer to Charlie, hesitating.

"Hello," Sarah said softly, afraid of startling the young man.

Charlie looked up at her, visibly taking a second to recognize his environment. "Hi," he said quietly. "I'm Charlie." He put out his hand to shake hers.

Sarah took several steps closer to Charlie and shook his hand. "I'm Sarah; it's nice to meet you." She smiled and sat across the couch from him. He seemed like a very sweet man and she took an instant liking to him.

"Nice to meet you." Charlie shifted in his chair so he would face Sarah fully, wincing in the process.

"Your brother told me about the accident. I didn't know you're still in pain." Sarah hesitated, not knowing how sensitive this issue was.

"A little. John helps." Charlie said casually. "He's very protective of me."

Sarah smiled. Her kids were always fighting and she would be happy to see them protect each other in this fashion. "He seems like a great guy and he really cares about you."

Charlie smiled broadly, causing Sarah to feel a little like the shy girl she used to be, staring at the cutest guy in class. "Yeah, I know. But sometimes he makes things worse."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked, confused.

"Sometimes he wants to protect me so much, he doesn't let me face things I probably should face," Charlie said thoughtfully, but with good humor. "He's protecting me a bit too much."

"Like what?" Reconsidering her question, Sarah added, "I'm sorry if it's too personal."

"It's okay." Charlie put his hand over hers for a second. "I don't have any secrets." He licked his lips before speaking again. "The accident. It was someone else's fault. She's a young mother, her kids were fighting in the back seat and she didn't notice me." He paused, looking at the kitchen where his brother was still talking with Peter. "After it happened, she asked to talk to me, to apologize. John thinks it would be too hard, and maybe he's right, but I think I need to try."

Sarah took Charlie's good hand in hers. "He loves you."

"I know." Charlie shook his head and smiled. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"People say I'm a good listener." Sarah smiled again. She felt sorry for the young man. Charlie seemed like a great guy who was obviously in pain. The bruises on his face and neck made it hard for her to concentrate on his serene expression. She had a hard time thinking of him as happy considering his physical condition. And she wanted to help him in any way she could. "I'm happy to lend an ear."

"I hate doing things behind his back, but I think I might have to, eventually."

"Have you considered writing her a letter? That way you can say your peace," Sarah suggested, enjoying the light in the man's eyes.

"I can't exactly go to the post office." Charlie indicated the chair.

"I'll tell you what – you write it, I'll mail it."

1001100

_'Oh my god,' _Charlie thought. _'Could this actually work?' _He didn't have the time to contemplate the answer to his question since Sarah was still sitting right in front of him. He figured that if he had told her that he'd been kidnapped, she wouldn't have believed him and John would've made him pay the price. He reasoned that if he told her something she thought she already knew, like the accident, he might be able to get something out of the situation - like her mailing a letter for him.

"That would be wonderful, and I'm sure she would appreciate it too." He paused for a second, leveling his tone. "But John can't know." Charlie wasn't the best of liars, but being a teacher meant that sometimes he had to put on a happy face. He had to stand in front of people and talk to them like their test scores were the most important thing in the world, no matter what was happening in his own life. He had perfected the art of pretending when his mother had gotten ill. Still, lying was a challenge. As long as Sarah didn't come out and ask him if he'd been kidnapped, he would be able to tell her a story. Pretending he had an over protective big brother wasn't such a stretch and Charlie knew he had to give it a try. He was never one to quit on a problem.

"I won't tell him. I promise."

Both Sarah and Charlie smiled happily, each for their own reasons. Now all he had to do was write a letter. "Thank you," He whispered to Sarah just before the four of them sat together for lunch.

1001101

Charlie grabbed his notebook and scribbled something fast in order to get it to Sarah in time. He would have to make it vague enough so Sarah wouldn't think it strange and clear enough for his friends to understand. _'Please make it work,' _Charlie prayed, thankful that his writing hand was still okay. _'I really need this to work.'_

1001110

November 11th

Sarah looked at the note in her hands. This letter would mean a lot to several people, yet she wasn't sure she wanted to send it. What Charlie had told her made a lot of sense, and she understood both he and the driver needed closure.

It bothered her that his brother was against it. John seemed to love Charlie so much, and she was sure he had his reasons for not wanting Charlie to talk with this woman. The last thing she wanted was to hurt either of them.

Peter thought she should take her time and sleep on it, and she decided to take his advice.

1001111

November 12th

_"Don," Charlie called to his brother as he entered his cubicle. _

_Don turned to face his brother. "Hi, Charlie." _

_"I'm waiting for you. Where are you? Why aren't you coming?" Charlie leaned against the table._

_"I'm looking for you, I swear." Don stood up, moving closer to his brother._

_"It hurts." Charlie's voice croaked. "I'm scared," he whispered as if he was telling a secret. "What if he changes his mind and kills me?"_

_"He won't. I won't let him." Don positioned himself so he dominated Charlie's line of vision. _

_"You can't stop him." Charlie's head tilted to one side unconsciously and his eyes welled up with tears. "Nobody can."_

_Don put his hands on his brother's shoulders, having the intent to calm him down. Instead, he found himself stunned into silence as Charlie began to cry tears of blood._

_"It's over, isn't it?" the younger man asked quietly. "I'm his now."_

"Charlie!" Don woke up breathing heavily. He took a moment to orient himself. He had fallen asleep on the living room couch since he didn't get much sleep at night. Lately, Charlie sounded more and more desperate, but this dream was the first time Charlie had completely given up. Looking around the room, he froze upon seeing Megan standing over him.

"I think you should take some time off," Megan said softly but forcibly.

"I can't-"

"I don't want to hear it," Megan cut him off. "You can't function like this, and I won't let you."

Don stood up, feeling uncomfortable with Megan standing over him like that. "I can't give up on him."

"You won't. We'll bring files here if we have to and we'll keep at it. But right now, you need to deal with what happened. You need to be Charlie's brother, not an FBI agent. Let us take care of the investigation." Megan wasn't sure she was getting through. "Making yourself sick isn't helping him." Thinking for a second more, she added, "or your father."

"What are you doing here, anyway?" He turned away from her.

She smiled. "I came to check on you."

"You don't have to-"

"Yes, I do," Megan interrupted again. It probably wasn't the best move to constantly disagree and interrupt her boss. "Look at me," she ordered, and after a moment he did as he was told. "You're here. Your father is here. You're both in pain and you're falling apart. Go miss your brother. Help your father. That's your job." She took a step closer to her friend. "You know we'll do ours."

"I have to do _something_." Don was trying to stay angry. The anger was the only thing that was keeping him from crying.

"I don't think Alan is doing as well as he wants you to believe. Take care of him. That's something."

Megan's words had struck a chord and Don took a moment to consider them. Alan wasn't a young man, and wandering around the house at nights could not be good for his health. "Okay," he surrendered, knowing all Megan had to do was talk to Merrick, which she _would_ do, and he'd be forced to take some time off. "But keep me posted."

"I will." Megan nodded, making a promise they both needed to hear.

She obviously knew she was twisting his arm, but she didn't care. Her friend's health was more important to her and she knew he'd eventually thank her for making him take a break. He looked like he was about to fall down, and the speed in which he surrendered only confirmed what she already believed.

"Go talk to him."

1010000

Don stood at the entrance to Charlie's room. His father was sitting in the middle of the room, looking paler and more jaded than Don had ever seen him before. Between his own nightmares and the crazy hours he'd been working in order to find his brother, Don had neglected to realize just how badly his father was doing.

"Dad," Don tried to get his father's attention, unsuccessfully. Sitting next to him on the bed, Don tried again. "Dad."

"When he was five, he had bad dreams and insisted I'd sleep with him. I spent hours in this room, talking to him, trying to get him to go back to sleep." Alan kept staring straight ahead. The only sign he knew his son had joined him in the room was the fact that he was speaking.

"I remember. Even I spent a night or two in here." Don tried to get his father to smile, but Alan couldn't smile.

"He was such a sweet boy."

"Dad." Don waited until his father looked at him. "You can't do this to yourself."

"I don't know how to do anything else." Alan took in a deep breath. "I just do what I can."

"You don't look good. You have to start sleeping more and eating more. We both do." The Eppes men looked at each other, giving the other whatever comfort they could.

"I'm just not hungry," Alan replied. He seemed to fade away with every passing day. "You think he's eating?"

Don sighed. He really didn't want to answer that question. Even in his dreams, Charlie seemed to be thinner than he remembered him. "I don't know what to think," Don admitted. "Do you dream about him?"

"Yes."

"Good dreams?" Don saw a shadow of a smile cross his father's face as he remembered the good times.

"Yeah." Alan nodded. "Just all of us, here, the way it's supposed to be."

"For that to ever happen again, you have to stay healthy. Please come and eat something." Don watched his father as he seemed to contemplate his words.

Alan nodded, not moving from his place on the bed. "Give me a minute."

Don nodded quietly, knowing his father didn't even see him.

1010001

November 14th

_"Charlie!" The mathematician heard his brother call him from somewhere inside the house, the sound reaching him in the basement._

_"I'm down here!" he called back, hoping Don would find his way through the locked door._

_Don's voice seemed to echo around the room. "I'm coming!" _

_Charlie could hear the effort to open the door from the other side and knew that any second this whole nightmare would be over._

_The door opened slowly and he could see someone walking in. But it wasn't Don._

_Charlie was surprised to find John standing over him, dressed in an FBI assault team uniform, chewing gum. "Are you okay?" John spoke with his brother's voice._

_"Charlie?"_

Charlie opened his eyes, startled, and looked around the room. He found John standing over him, much like in the dream - only he was wearing normal clothes. The look on his face was unmistakably anger, increasing Charlie's anxiety level.

"What's wrong?" the young man asked, but got no reply. "John?" Charlie knew he sounded scared.

"Why do you keep doing that?" John asked, obviously not expecting a reply. "You keep making me do this."

"Do wh-" Charlie didn't get to finish the sentence as John grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. Not being able to stand, Charlie hung from John's grip. After a moment in which he held the young man, he unceremoniously dropped him to the floor, only to have his head bounce off the bed frame with a terrible thud.

Charlie's vision was spinning. Not being able to tell up from down, he lay where he landed, waiting for his mind to clear. He wasn't ready for the first kick and never saw it coming. But once he'd been hit he knew more was to follow. He curled into a ball, trying to protect his more vital organs, but wasn't fast enough. Charlie was hit until he couldn't tell where the pain was coming from. He just lay there waiting for it to stop.

1010010

November 15th

Megan stepped into her apartment, dropping the keys and mail on the table. It had been a long day of paperwork and every part of her body seemed to ache. Taking a glass of water from the kitchen, Megan picked up her mail and entered the living room, switching on the lights, which were on the way.

Sitting on the living room couch, Megan started to sift through her mail. She came across a name she had never seen before and opened the letter curiously.

_Megan,_

_I know it's been a while since you heard from me. I hope this letter finds you well. They told me you wanted to talk to me after the accident; I hope you understand why John stopped that from happening._

_I asked my neighbor – Sarah Wilcox - to mail this letter for me. I live right next to her with my brother, John. You can contact me through her. Please tell everyone I'm doing okay,_

_Yours,_

_Charlie_

Megan stared at the letter for several minutes, rereading it over and over, a decision forming in her mind. Grabbing her keys, she left the apartment.

1010011


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N – I'm sorry for the delay with this chapter. My beta left me and I'm working with someone new so there's a lot of work to catch up on. There's also quite a bit going on in RL. I'll pick up the pace soon.**

**_ Hope is a good thing... and no good thing ever dies _**

1010011

Don was watching TV when he heard a knock on the door. He walked to the front door quickly, hoping the noise hadn't disturbed his father upstairs.

"Megan," Don greeting his guest. Seeing the look on her face, he abandoned the idea of small talk. "What's going on?"

"Do you recognize this handwriting?" she asked him, handing him a folded piece of paper.

Don stared at the words without seeing them. He knew the handwriting. He'd known it his whole life. He'd been staring at it on the boards in the garage. He'd seen it in his homework in high school. He knew it very well and he had missed seeing it everywhere.

He looked up at Megan, questions written all over his face.

"I got it in the mail today." She smiled wildly at her friend. "With a return address."

"You mean…" Don wasn't sure if he wanted to finish that sentence. After almost three weeks, hope was a luxury he wouldn't allow himself.

"I'll book us a flight. You talk to Alan."

With a broad smile slowly spreading across his face, Don did a double take. "Flight?"

"He's in San Francisco," Megan said, pulling out her cell phone. "I'll call David and Colby."

"Thank you."

Don climbed the stairs two at a time. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to think. His mind was reeling with the possibility of finding his little brother in just a few hours. _'Just hold on, Buddy. I'm coming to get you.'_ Don smiled to himself. It was finally happening.

Walking quietly, Don entered his father's room before the older man had noticed he was there. Alan had obviously been crying and he looked exhausted. He was sitting back on the bed, going through a photo album.

"Hi, Dad." Don stood next to the bed, waiting for his father to acknowledge him.

Alan sniffed slightly. "Don."

"That was Megan at the door." Don shifted nervously. "Dad…" He waited for his father to look at him. "We got a lead on Charlie."

1010100

Alan didn't know how to deal with what had happened to his youngest son during the last 19 days. How does a father deal with not knowing where his son is, how he was doing or if he was even still alive? His mind had been conjuring terrible scenarios he didn't want to believe.

In the beginning, he had tried to be there for Don. To be the father he knew his son had needed, but as more and more time passed it was becoming harder for him.

He took time to himself every once in a while. A time to talk to Margaret, a time to look at photos, a time to miss his family. The problem was that as the days grew into weeks, those moments away became longer, and before he knew it, he had neglected everything else. He had become increasingly uncomfortable just being around the house, and spent his time in either his or Charlie's room.

He wasn't prepared for his oldest son to come through the door and tell him that this hellish existence might be over soon. So when Don spoke he just stared at him, disbelieving.

"I'm going to catch the next flight to San Francisco. You shouldn't be alone here. Who should I call?" Don talked with an enthusiasm Alan hadn't seen in far too long.

Alan took a second to catch up on what Don was telling him. "Don't worry about me. Go bring your brother back."

Don smiled and turned away only to be stopped by his father. "Donnie, how good is this lead?"

Don looked down at the letter in his hand and smiled at the familiar writing. "It's pretty good."

Alan smiled. He hadn't smiled in a long time. "Good luck!"

1010101

Don was pacing. David, Megan and Colby were watching him wear a hole in the carpet.

"Sit down, man." Colby tried to get Don to stop for the third time.

"What's taking so long?" Their flight was delayed and Don's stress levels were going up, as he walked back and forth in the middle of the airport.

"You have to calm down," David said, hoping Don wasn't noticing his leg twitching with nervousness. They were all nervous about getting their friend back.

"I'll be fine."

Megan, who knew that Don was probably right and that his adrenalin would keep him going, objected in order to keep her friend from driving them all crazy, "No you won't. You'll run yourself into the ground. Sit down."

Don sighed and sat down heavily, hitting his back against the chair. Still needing a way to release his energy he started playing with his pen.

1010110

November 16th

Sarah Wilcox had just returned from taking her kids to school when the doorbell rang. She opened the door and was confronted with four people; none of which looked very friendly.

"Sarah Wilcox?" one of the men asked.

"Yes."

"My name is Don Eppes, I'm with the FBI. We need to ask you a few questions."

Surprised to find FBI agents on her doorstep, Sarah only nodded.

"Have you ever seen this man?" Agent Eppes took out a picture from his jacket pocket and showed it to her.

Stunned to see her friend, she replied, "Yeah, that's Charlie Mann. He lives next door." Looking at their serious expressions, she asked carefully, "Why? Is he in trouble?"

"No. Not at all," the female agent replied. "He's been missing for the last three weeks."

"Missing?" Sarah asked, bewildered. "You must be mistaken. He's living with his brother, John. They just moved." She decided to stop talking as all four agents shifted uncomfortably, three of them glancing at agent Eppes. There seemed to be something they didn't want to tell her.

Ignoring her answer, the light haired man asked, "Which house?"

"The one on the right, but I doubt anyone would answer. John's at work and Charlie doesn't like company much." All four agents looked at her strangely. Sarah waited for someone to tell her what was going on.

The FBI agents pulled out their weapons and approached the neighbor's house.

1010111

"Any idea why he chose the name Mann?" Colby asked.

"It was my mother's maiden name," Don answered stiffly, uncomfortable with the fact.

"Megan and Colby - take the top floor, David, take the basement. I'll take the ground floor. Ready?" Once Don saw all his agents nodding he ordered, "Execute."

Don entered the house with a great feeling of trepidation. He wasn't bothered by the physical threat. He knew he could handle anything John would do, though the neighbor had said that he wasn't home. He was afraid of being too late, of not finding Charlie, of failing once again. The kitchen was empty, and as he moved into the living room, he was expecting to see his brother as he had seen him in his dreams – coved with blood, looking at him accusingly through dead eyes. Don had to shake the thought of his dreams out of his mind before he could continue.

The living room was empty and the TV seemed to have been shattered by something. The agent wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened and hoped that Charlie wasn't there to see it. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He kept expecting someone to call out that they'd found Charlie. But the call didn't come and time seemed to stand still.

1011000

David entered the house, finding the basement to his immediate right. He climbed down the stairs carefully, his gun pointed to the floor. He tried to tell himself it was just another day at the office in an attempt to keep himself composed. Reaching the door at the bottom of the stairs, he examined the lock. He could only find one reason why someone would lock a door this way and took it as a good sign. He said a silent prayer that the letter Megan had gotten was legit and that Charlie was okay, while he broke the lock with the butt of his gun.

The agent opened the door, scanning the room with his eyes and weapon. David froze when he got to the left side of the room. There, next to a short cot, lay the small form of Professor Charles Eppes.

Realizing who he was pointing his gun at; he holstered it in a hurry. He took a few steps into the room in haste and knelt down, his fingers instinctively going for the neck. He breathed out in relief when he found a pulse, and his attention was immediately drawn to the collar and the chain attached to it.

The FBI agent punched the bed next to him, feeling like he needed to hit something – preferably a man named John. He was disgusted to find Charlie on a leash and hoped he'd be able to get it off of him before Don saw it.

"Down here," he called to his team. Seeing how tightly Charlie was curled into himself, David turned him on his back gently, trying to asses his injuries. The veteran agent found himself blinking back tears after seeing how bruised and battered his friend was.

Much to David's surprise, Charlie opened his eyes and looked at him.

1011001

Charlie felt hands over him. They were touching him, moving him, checking for injuries. Assuming John came back for one of his crazy episodes, Charlie chose to keep his eyes closed. His whole face throbbed and he preferred to move as little as possible. When he let him self think about it, everything hurt, and the mathematician chose to concentrate on his dreams.

But the tender hands over him, turning him around, didn't feel like John. He was always commanding, either with anger, or by picking Charlie up when he took care of him. He was never tender.

Opening his eyes slowly, Charlie was surprised to see David. _'Is this a dream?' _he thought to himself. He knew he should be able to tell the difference between dreams and reality, but everything hurt so badly his mind clouded. He didn't think his body could ache this badly, but then again, his dreams never had any pain in them.

"David?" he croaked. He was surprised at how weak his voice sounded, and for a second he wasn't sure David even heard him.

Leaning in, David answered, his voice choked. "It's me. It's okay now. We'll take care of you."

"Over?" the mathematician whispered again, not believing what he was hearing. "Home?"

"Yeah." David moved a few strands of hair from Charlie's face. "Home."

1011010

"Clear," Don called out from the ground floor. Listening for his teammates voices, Don heard David call, "Down here."

He froze for a moment before taking the stairs to the basement in long leaps.

The agent stood rooted in his place. There he was, his little brother, thin, bruised and tortured, lying on the cold floor. _'What did he do to you?' _Don wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to find John and beat him to death. He wanted to call Alan. He wanted to take Charlie into his arms and never let go. He wanted to do a lot of things, but instead found himself unable to move.

"Don?" it was Charlie's pleading voice and confused expression that finally got Don moving and he quickly sat on the floor next to his brother.

"Hi, Buddy," he said softly. "It's good to see you."

Charlie smiled, or at least attempted to smile as much as his injuries would allow him to. "You too."

Don leaned in and ran his hand over his brother on the forehead and hair. "We got your letter."

Charlie lifted his right hand to touch his brother's face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm… happy. I've missed you. So did Dad." Don was openly crying now, seeing how concerned Charlie was for him even in his condition.

"He okay?" Charlie swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a second.

Wanting to find out about an ambulance, Don looked around and first noticed that David wasn't in the room anymore. He knew his team would take care of it. "He's fine."

"Donnie…" Charlie paused for a second before making his next request silently. "Water?"

As if jarred from a dream, Don first realized that Charlie must have been on the floor for a while. He practically ran to the bathroom and back, holding a glass of water. "Slowly," he cautioned while raising his brother's head slightly, and held the glass for him.

Putting his hand near his brother's neck, it was the first time he noticed the collar and chain as it clinked. He had to turn away from his brother to compose himself so Charlie wouldn't see his anger and disgust.

"What?" Charlie asked worriedly once he finished his drink.

Don lowered his brother's head on a pillow he grabbed from the bed, using this distraction to avert his gaze from Charlie.

"It's nothing." Don forced himself to turn back and look at his brother. He heard David coming back down the stairs and wiped his tears away quickly. He was thankful to find David holding something to cut the chain from Charlie's neck and smiled at his friend.

Don moved Charlie's hair so David could cut the lock and then removed it, throwing it away from them.

Both agents looked horrified at the ugly bruise on Charlie's neck, realizing that he'd had that on him for a long time.

"Thank you," Charlie whispered; his voice breaking. "Was annoying." He licked his lips.

"What's the ETA on the ambulance?" Don asked the younger agent.

"There's been some accident. It might take a while." David answered, obviously upset by the situation.

"We're not waiting." David nodded at Don's order. "Charlie." Don made sure he had his brother's attention. He was yet to see Charlie move and his stillness unnerved Don. "I'm gonna pick you up. I'll go slowly, okay?"

"Kay." Charlie closed his eyes, looking too tired to keep them open. Don drew his brother to him gently, picking him up and stopping every time Charlie even flinched. Cradling the young Eppes lovingly, Don started up the stairs.

1011011


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N - I am so sorry, guys! I know it's been forever, but a lot has been going on in my life and I haven't been able to update. I did keep writing and I finished the fic – only to lose the notebook. Yeah… I actually lost all of it. _

_I'm rewriting now. I went over everything you wrote and it really made me want to sit down and finish this story – so I made a decision. As many of you pointed out, everything that happened so far in the story would leave a huge psychological impact and would take a while to deal with. I'm not going to run away from dealing with that or from dealing with the story I originally sat down to write (which was a little different from this one). I will close this one soon and most of the aftermath would be dealt with in a sequel instead of one very long and complicated story. I'm already working on it – I promise. Enjoy your reading!_

_PS: Someone asked about "Discoveries" – I fully intend to go back to that story as soon as I'm finished with this one._

_** I find I'm so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in  
my head. I think it's the excitement only a free man can feel... a  
free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is  
uncertain. I hope I can make it across the border. I hope to see my  
friend and shake his hand. I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has  
been in my dreams. I hope... **_

1011011

Charlie closed his eyes tightly against the harsh sunlight as Don took him outside. He knew there were other people around, but wasn't able to concentrate on their voices enough to figure out who they were and what they were saying. Don sounded tense, and Charlie hoped nothing was wrong. He couldn't handle anything going wrong. John should be at work like every other day and it would be a while before he returned to the house.

His ribs ached. Charlie tried to shift a bit in Don's arms only to be stopped by a sharp pain in his abdomen. He groaned involuntary into his brother's chest and was surprised to feel that Don stopped moving. "I'm okay," he whispered, never opening his eyes. After another moment passed, the movement continued and he was lowered into the backseat of a car. He'd missed the warmth of the morning sun and felt its absence once in the shade of the car. But now he could open his eyes and look up at Don, who was sitting in the backseat with him, allowing the younger man to lean back on him.

The mathematician gave his brother a short half smile before closing his eyes again. His head was spinning and the car driving down the streets of San Francisco made him queasy. He felt Don's comforting hand on his, and he relished the gentle contact. He wanted to return it but found he was too tired to do so. He hoped his brother knew how he felt.

1011100

Don sat in the hospital's waiting room. Around him sat three worried FBI agents. He had carried Charlie to the car, where he had drifted in and out of consciousness, scaring the hell out of his brother. The nurse had taken one look at the young man and called for the doctor.

Now they were waiting for news, leaving the act of catching John to the local FBI division.

Don startled his friends by getting up abruptly because he had barely moved in the hours since they'd taken Charlie away.

"Where are you going?" Colby asked the question that was on everyone's mind.

"Call my Dad." He stepped away from the group and opened his cell phone, dialing the familiar number. He was so distressed by Charlie's appearance that he'd forgotten to call his father.

"Don?" Alan answered the phone.

"Hi Dad," Don replied wearily, his lack of sleep catching up to him. "We found him." It was what he had wanted to say for the last three weeks. He couldn't believe how relieved he felt to finally be able to say it.

1011101

Alan sat down abruptly, startling Larry. Getting up from his seat, the professor went to the other man's side thinking something very bad had happened. Megan had called to ask him to keep his friend's father company while he was waiting for news.

"How is he?" Alan asked, confirming for Larry that Charlie had been found. The physicist smiled broadly as he listened to the one-sided conversation.

"How bad?" Larry's smile faltered as Alan paled. "I'll be on the next flight." Alan announced before he hung up.

"What?" Larry asked when Alan stood and began pacing restlessly.

"Charlie's in the hospital. In San Francisco." Alan could barely phrase complete sentences in his rush. "I'm getting on a plane."

"Hospital?" Larry asked, worried. "Will he be okay?"

Alan didn't look his companion in the eye. "Don doesn't know anything yet. He said it didn't look good."

Larry held Alan's arms and moved the frantic man back into his chair.

1011110

Alan had answered the phone on its second ring, as he had answered all the previous phone calls. He had begun to think that the news he'd been breathlessly waiting for would never come.

He had practically fallen when Don gave him the news, his mind racing a million miles per second.

_'Could this be real? Is the nightmare over? Is he okay? Will he be okay? Will everything go back to normal?' _

All he wanted was to put his arms around his youngest son and feel him again. Feel his heartbeats, smell his hair, hold his gentle hand in his own, watch his chest rise and fall rhythmically as he slept. He had always loved watching his kids sleep when they were younger.

He was afraid to ask how Charlie was doing. Don sounded rattled by what he had found and Don was rarely rattled. While a part of him didn't want to hear the answer to that question, the parent in him needed to know. Don had said that he didn't know how bad it was, but Alan could hear what Don wasn't saying in his voice. He knew that Charlie had lived through a horrific experience and that it wasn't going to be easy for any of them.

_'Please be okay, Charlie. Please, God.' _

"Get him some of his things," Larry said calmly, penetrating Alan's thoughts. "I'll book the flight."

Alan stood up almost mechanically but as the realization that he was going to see his boy filled his whole being he picked up speed and suddenly had a nearly frenetic energy in his step. "Thank you," Alan replied, already half way to the stairs.

1011111

Charlie opened his eyes slowly only to close them again when he was faced with a blinding light. He tried to figure out where he was and it took him a moment to remember Don and David. Once he did, the rhythmic beeping he could hear in the background made sense. They had taken him to a hospital, which he knew was probably a good idea. Feeling someone touching his right hand, he opened his eyes again and found his brother leaning over the bed. It made him feel uncomfortable and he couldn't understand why.

"Hey," Don said, his smile broadening. "How are you feeling?"

Charlie took a moment to consider Don's question. His head was pounding, his arm felt as broken as ever, his legs didn't feel like they would work very well and his chest was on fire.

But he was finally free.

"Fine," he mouthed, surprised to discover that his voice was non-existent.

"The doctor said you might have a problem with that. She said she'd come and tell us everything soon. Dad's on his way." Don rubbed his thumb over the back of Charlie's hand, careful with the IV.

Charlie wanted to talk to his brother - to thank him for helping him - but found that he lacked the energy to even nod. He allowed his eyes to drift close and was asleep in seconds.

1100000

Don watched his brother sleep. The nurse had let him into the room, only telling him that Charlie's voice would be weak.

They had taken Charlie's shirt off, and dressed several open wounds on his chest, belly and back. When Don first entered the room he was surprised at how gaunt his brother looked and how bruised his body was. Someone had covered Charlie up since, but Don knew that it was a picture that would burn itself into his memory.

He'd been sitting there for a while, just staring at his brother and holding his hand. He was surprised to see how weak Charlie had been when he had woken up and kept staring at him long after he had fallen back to sleep. "I missed you, Buddy. Good to have you back," he whispered to his little brother. "Now you just have to be okay."

"Ahem." Megan cleared her throat from the doorway. "The doctor needs to talk to us about Charlie's condition."

Don nodded, knowing that the FBI agents working the case would get a detailed medical report.

Megan entered the room followed by David, Colby and Charlie's doctor – Elizabeth McCoy, none of them walking far into the room.

"How is he?" Don asked from his seat next to the bed.

"He has a serious concussion; four ribs and his left arm are broken. We had to operate and reset his arm and fix some internal damage in his abdomen."

Don swallowed hard, knowing full well how painful those injuries were.

"We had to intubate him for the surgery and between that and whatever put the pressure on his larynx, his throat is a bit swollen and he'll have problems with his voice. It'll come back in a few days."

Don bit his lip as he remembered the chain around Charlie's neck when they had first found him. He tried to keep his anger in check as much as he could around Charlie, but that specific mental image kept bringing his emotions to the surface.

"Due to the extensive beating his CPK level was grossly elevated."

Megan stepped forward. "CPK?"

"Yes that is Creatine Phosphokinase. It is an enzyme that is released into the blood when there has been muscle tissue breakdown to the extent that we see here. We need to push IV fluids to try and flush his system out. The fact that he is also dehydrated has exacerbated the situation making his own blood toxic to his system. His BUN is also elevated because of the damage to his kidneys again due to the blunt force trauma. The CT examinations show the damage to both kidneys, the broken ribs, other minor organ damage throughout his abdomen and the swelling associated with his concussion."

Don felt his head reeling with this dreadful catalog of serious injuries. John had nearly beaten his brother to death, and for what? What was he trying to accomplish? Don was pulled out of his thoughts as the doctor continued with her explanation.

"His knees were hurt pretty badly; he won't be able to walk for a while. There was some ligament damage as well as muscle atrophy, which will cause him to have some mobility problems. We'll see how he heals." Don squeezed Charlie's hand gently, trying to give the sleeping man some comfort. It sounded like there was a long and hard road ahead of him.

"There are numerous lacerations on his back." Each time the doctor continued Don felt more and more desperate. "Some of them are infected and we're treating him with antibiotics. We're also giving him nutrition supplements through the NG tube since he's been starved for the last few weeks. I found some scars – cuts that healed and what I imagine were ropes that cut through his wrists. The rest are bruises. Much of his body looks the way his face does." The doctor took a deep breath and shook her head in disbelief. Don had to agree with her. How could anyone do this to another human being, let alone the sweet man he knew?

"He has a lot of healing to do and we'll have to keep him around for a while, but he'll be okay, and that's what matters."

Don looked at the doctor, thankful that she was finally done and had eventually delivered good news.

"Do you know who did this to him?" the doctor asked, looking away from Don and over to the other agents present.

"No, why…?" David inquired.

"There were some marks… the ropes and some bruises that look like hand and boot prints." Don looked at Charlie's serene face, wanting desperately to pick Charlie up and lay him next to himself, to feel his warm, breathing body against his own. Knowing full well that he couldn't move his little brother, he turned his attention back to the doctor, catching her mid-sentence. "-catch this guy."

"We will," Megan replied with a steely look in her eyes then smiled her goodbye as the doctor excused herself.

Don kept looking at Charlie, trying to see beyond the bruises and the NG tube that was now feeding him through his nose. "What happened to you?" Don's voice broke, tears rising in his eyes.

1100001

November 17th

"Hey." David walked over to Megan in the hospital waiting room. "Here," he said, handing her a cup of coffee.

She turned dark eyes toward her fellow agent. The level of anger that she was feeling was clear in her face and she didn't try to hide it. "Thank you."

David stared straight ahead. "He'll be all right."

"He's not alright and he's been through hell." Megan sipped her coffee. "And it's not over."

"There's something else?"

"We found him chained on a leash on a basement floor, which I think had blood stains on it." Megan stated bluntly. "You saw the cuts on his thighs. We just don't know what happened." Megan didn't want to even imagine what the last three weeks had been like for her young friend.

"Yeah." David kept staring ahead thinking about Charlie's broken, disbelieving voice when he had first found him. "I know what you mean."

"How's Don doing?" Megan asked in a softer tone.

"He's in shock. God knows what he'll do when he comes out of it." He looked at Megan, who seemed to come to a decision.

"Then we don't leave him alone too much."

"I'll make you a deal." David looked behind Megan for a second. "I'll tell Colby about this and you talk to Alan." He said, indicating the older Eppes walking their way.

1100010

Beeping. Something was beeping in his ear. And it was hard to breathe. Sore. Pain. John was always causing pain.

John.

Charlie opened his eyes, looking around the room for John, ready to handle another one of his episodes. Instead, he found Don sitting next to his bed, talking to him.

"It's okay. Everything's okay now." Don was running his hand over Charlie's curly hair, trying to sooth him. "You with me?"

Don smiled like he had in all of Charlie's dreams, each time Charlie woke up to John's angry face. "John," Charlie mouthed, wondering if he was still in the basement and Don was just another dream.

"He's not here. You're safe now, Charlie." Don ran his finger over Charlie's good hand, which he'd been holding for a while.

Charlie wasn't ready for that touch. Whenever he'd been touched, it'd been awkward and uncomfortable. The mathematician pulled his hand away, shaking his head, "No."

Everything spiraled out of control, as a blind panic seemed to take over Charlie.

Don's voice became increasingly alarmed, but Charlie wasn't listening. He wanted to go home; he wanted to get away from John.

1100011

Don tried to hold Charlie down. The young man was starting to trash around in bed and looking around the room. He did his best to talk slowly and calmly to penetrate Charlie's frantic state, knowing that he sounded worried. "Please, Charlie, calm down. You're going to hurt yourself."

Charlie's lips kept moving, but with no voice coming out Don couldn't understand what his brother was trying to say. He kept trying to hold Charlie still so he wouldn't aggravate his broken bones. Charlie himself seemed oblivious to his injuries.

It wasn't long before the mathematician's elevated vitals notified the nurses who came running into the room. They had quickly escorted Don out. Standing outside the room, Don did his best to peek inside and see what was happening. He could see one of the nurses injecting something into Charlie's IV, which calmed him down. It wasn't long before he was asleep again.

Once he saw his brother was all right, Don made a beeline for the bathroom. He let himself sink to the floor, leaning hard against the cold, off-white wall. He started thinking about what the doctor had told him; about how thin Charlie had gotten in three weeks; about how broken his body was; about how scared he had gotten; about the fact that it took Don three weeks to find his brother.

Everything coalesced in his torn and ragged emotions as he hung his head and cried.

He cried for Charlie's painfor his fear and terror. He cried because he had missed his brother, and because he was so relieved to get him back. He cried because he was so happy to see Charlie and so angry to find him half unconscious on the floor. He cried for his own fear and helplessness. He cried until there were no more tears. Until his head pounded and his eyes burned. He cried like he hadn't cried since he was a small child, afraid of monsters in the closet. He cried because as an adult he knew that there really were monsters; monsters that can tear your world apart.

1100100


	17. Chapter 17

_** Who says you can't go home? There's only one place they call me one of their own **_

1100100

Alan was looking for Don. He'd talked to Megan, and she told him what the doctor had said about Charlie's injuries. He couldn't listen to it. Her description of Charlie's cuts and bruises was the final straw that just about broke him down.

He had tried to get into his son's room, but the nurses refused to let him in, insisting that Charlie wasn't to be disturbed. After he begged to see him the nurse had agreed to let him look at Charlie. To see him from the distance, just to know he was okay.

Alan hadn't been ready for it. Megan had warned him that Charlie was bruised and bandaged. That he was thinner than Alan remembered him. But the older Eppes wasn't ready for how frail his son looked. For a second, Alan wasn't sure his legs would support him. The nurse noticed his distress and led him out of the room, leaving him with a heavy heart.

Once Alan began to come to terms with his youngest son's condition he realized he had to find his oldest, whom Alan knew would be as rattled as he was. He knew there weren't many places his son would go to when he was upset, so it didn't take him long to track him to the nearest bathroom. He didn't really expect to find Don crying on the floor, but he wasn't surprised either. He'd been waiting for it for three weeks.

"Hi," he called softly from the doorway.

Don looked up at him and with a sad smile. "Hi."

Alan sat next to his son on the cold floor, putting his arm around Don's shoulders. "You okay?"

"I don't know." Don admitted honestly. "He was so scared."

"When you found him?"

"They sedated him for the surgery. When he woke up, he got so upset they had to sedate him again."

Alan tried to catch his son's eye. "Upset?"

"Terrified. He can't speak but I think he tried to say 'John'" Don wiped at the tears on his face. "He almost climbed off the bed."

"He'll be okay," Alan said, not sure whom he was trying to convince - himself or Don. He knew the words sounded empty, but he knew they needed to be heard.

"He's just been through surgery and has four broken ribs." Anger seeped into Don's voice and he made no effort to hide it. "He shouldn't be able to move like that."

"We'll get him through it," Alan said with confidence he didn't know he had. He found strength when one of his boys needed him.

"Dad…" Don tried to find the words, failed, and tried again. "I can't stop thinking about what happened to him." Tears started falling again and his voice cracked. "Some of his injuries are newer than others. Who knows what John…?" Don couldn't finish the sentence.

"Look at me." Alan waited until his son looked him in the eyes. "He willbe all right."

Don nodded. His father would accept no other answer.

1100101

Charlie woke up groggy, recognizing the feeling of having received a sedative before he even opened his eyes. He didn't like sedatives or painkillers. He didn't like the way they clouded his mind and took away his control. The mathematician made a mental note to tell his doctor to take him off of them. He preferred the physical pain he had had to live with lately to being so mixed up he couldn't tell if he was dreaming or not.

His mind cleared some more and he realized Don must have been scared to see him the way he had. He looked around the room, searching for his brother.

Charlie found that there was only a nurse with him. Remembering he couldn't speak, he reached out with his good hand to get her attention.

"Good morning, Mr. Eppes. How are you feeling?" the nurse asked cheerfully.

Charlie made a sign with his hand for a pen and paper. Understanding immediately, the nurse handed him a sketch pad and a pen already on his dresser. Struggling to write with the IV in his one functioning hand he wrote 'Fine. What happened?'

"You tell me. All I know is that you got upset over something and we had to sedate you to calm you down." She stood next to his bed, one hand on her hip.

Knowing how much the drugs contributed to his disorientation, he tentatively wrote 'No more drugs.'

"You need them," she objected. "Your body can't handle that much pain. You just got out of surgery."

'Please. I don't like the way they make me feel,' he practically begged, hating the way he had feared his own brother.

"You wouldn't like the pain either," she replied dismissively and walked out.

Contemplating removing the IV on his own in order to stay sane, Charlie heard the door open. Looking up, expecting the nurse, he was surprised to see his father walking in. He couldn't remember being this happy to see someone since he was a kid. His father had always been a safe place for him to go to. A shoulder, an ear - a friend. He'd always been there for him, even John saw it.

"Dad," he mouthed, tears forming in his eyes.

Alan crossed the room and took his son's delicate hand in both his own. Charlie tried to ignore the awkward feeling that his father's touch invoked in him. "God, Charlie. It's so good to see you." He kissed his son's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

'Okay,' Charlie wrote slowly. 'You?'

Alan smiled with unshed tears brightening his eyes, and ran his hand over his son's hair. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

'I scared Don.' Charlie turned the pad towards his father clumsily.

"Don't worry about that. He's fine." Charlie knew his brother and knew he wasn't fine, but he let it go for now.

'What did the doctor say?' He looked blankly at his father.

"Your arm is broken, but you know that." Charlie smiled weakly. "Four ribs broken. They had to operate on them and reset the arm." He nodded his understanding, seeing how hard it was for his father to tell him these things. "They said you won't be able to walk for a while and they'll have to see how you heal." Charlie nodded again, obviously surprising his father with his acceptance. "Your voice will come back in a day or two and they're giving you antibiotics for some cuts that got infected and nutrition supplements because you're…" He could see that Alan found it increasingly difficult to tell him these things despite knowing that Charlie needed to hear about them. He moved his hand over his father's, trying to let him know he was okay. "You'll be fine."

"Can I come in?" Don called from the doorway.

"Yeah," Alan replied, looking at Charlie for confirmation.

Don walked slowly towards the bed. "How are you?"

Charlie let go of his father's hand. 'Fine. Sorry about before.'

Running his hand over his brother's, Don said, "Don't worry about it. I'm just sorry you had to go through it."

Charlie let a small smile cross his face briefly. 'It's good to see you," he wrote to both men.

"We missed you." Don smiled broadly, giving no sign that what had happened earlier even bothered him. But it bothered Charlie.

'Me too.' Charlie looked at both of them. He had thought he would never see them again and now he just wanted to hold them forever but he was painfully aware that he could barely move, let alone hug someone. 'Can you tell the doctor something for me?' he was apprehensive regarding his request, knowing they might react the same way the nurse had.

"Of course." Alan leaned in towards his son.

1100110

'No more drugs,' Don watched his brother write, horrified by his request. He'd broken bones in the past and he remembered how badly it had hurt.

"You can't do that. It'll –" Charlie raised his hand, effectively stopping his brother's speech.

'I've lived with it.' He looked harshly at his guests who exchanged a worried look. 'I know what I'm asking.'

"Then why?"

'They just cause a different kind of pain,' Charlie wrote, not looking up at his family.

What Don read scared him. The fact that Charlie preferred to be in pain over getting painkillers meant something Don wasn't willing to contemplate. He put his hand on Charlie's cheek, making his brother look at him. "It's that bad?"

'You've seen how bad.' Charlie looked at his big brother. Don knew what Charlie was talking about.

Don looked at his father, trying to convey how much he hated the idea and how well he understood that for Charlie, there was no other way. "I'll talk to the doctor."

Charlie looked at his family, content with his brother's answer. 'How long has it been?' he flexed his hand, having a hard time writing so much with his injuries. It was a question he badly needed answered.

Don hesitated. "Three weeks."

He couldn't read Charlie's face. He rarely had problems reading his brother and didn't like it when he couldn't.

1100111

Alan watched Charlie sleep. He'd spent three weeks wishing he could watch his young son sleep and now he couldn't get enough of it. He knew Charlie had a long road ahead of him, and that they would all go through a lot, but he knew in the pit of his stomach that the worst was over. That he had his family again and that together, they will get over everything.

The father shifted his gaze to his older son. Don had fallen asleep in a chair next to Charlie's bed, their hands touching lightly. He was so happy to see the relationship that had grown between the brothers as they got to know each other as adults. He knew Margaret would be thrilled to see it as well. They hadn't gotten along for most of their lives and somehow it was the math that eventually got them to work together and become friends.

_'Beautiful, aren't they?' _he hoped Margaret would agree. He knew she had kept Charlie alive while he was with John and that now it was his turn to keep his son safe. _'I've got it now,'_ he closed his eyes tenderly. _'We'll be okay.'_

The End…For now

_I promised I would end it soon. For those of you who wondered why I split this into 2 stories - it's because everything that happens next will have its own highs and lows, a beginning and an end, and it just wouldn't work as one long fic_

_So – is John giving up on Charlie or will he come back? Will they catch him before he hurts someone? Will Charlie be able to go back to normal? And what will happen with Don when he faces everything that happened to Charlie and why it happened?_

_HUGE thanks to my betas – You have made all the difference. Thank you for all your help and patience._

_Stay tuned - Eff_


End file.
